


Flinching

by Rayrawl



Series: First Times [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baby, Confused Derek, F/M, Girl!Stiles, Hospitals, Hunters, I shit you not it's angst as hell, Jackson and Isaac are too cute, Lydia is queen, Magic, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con References, Scott is an ass, Suicide Attempt, Teen Pregnancy, angsty, rival packs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 72,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayrawl/pseuds/Rayrawl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have defeated the Alpha pack. They have everyone together. Their parents know. The house is rebuilt. They should all be celebrating. So, why does Stiles keep walking into pack meetings smelling like pain and fear? Why is she avoiding questions, flinching, wincing and shaking with every given moment? And can the pack save her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this will be a multi-chapter Teen Wolf fic, but not too many chapters i think. We have a renovated Hale house, a pack consisting of; Derek, Scott, Issac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Danny, Lydia, Allison and Stiles. Fem!Stiles is occurring here, so if that's not your thing, turn back now :)
> 
> Already together pairs- Erica/Boyd - Lydia/Jackson - Allison/Scott
> 
> Timeline is about 6-8 months after the end of S2.
> 
> Dark themes of abuse. Be careful for possible triggers.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, i have no beta :)

The first time Stiles walks into a pack meeting smelling like pain and fear, Derek almost brushes it off as a result of the final fight with the Alpha pack two nights ago. They'd won, eventually; with the help of the Argent's and surprisingly, the Sheriff. Stiles had gotten hurt though, pushing her dad out of the way of a stray arrow from Allison meant that it scraped her side instead. The distraction had given one of the remaining Alpha's time to throw her back into a tree. She had a bit of a concussion, a lot of bruises and too much to explain to her father, but it explained her bruises and could maybe explain the pungent scent of fear that hit Derek the moment Stiles walked into the room.

"Hey Stiles. You okay?" Scott was perched on the edge of the sofa, nose crinkled in confusion as he scented his best friend. Derek watched Stiles closely as she walked the rest of the room and slumped down next to Scott. She still looked a little unsteady on her feet, and it was obvious she was in pain; but unlike the last time Derek had seen her, she was conscious and there wasn't any blood, so he's counting this as an improvement.

"Been better, but it's nothing that won't heal up soon." Stiles' heart had been beating so fast and hard with the yet to be fully explained fear that none of the wolves in the room could tell if it was a lie or not. Scott just smiles back at her with a nod and turned back to the discussion he'd been having before Stiles had turned up. Derek kept watching Stiles from his spot leaning against the wall, noticing the way her eyes flickered in badly concealed panic whenever someone moved too quickly or shouted too loud, wondering why she flinched and her hand shook every time her phone buzzed with a message. It was worrying, the concealed terror just under the surface, the way that the pain he could smell seemed like too much for the injuries he knew she suffered.

That worry increased ten-fold when he realised he could still smell fresh blood somewhere on her body. He'd been around women long enough to known that this was in no way normal, and he'd been around Stiles long enough to know that she usually panicked a lot when she was bleeding, if it was unimportant. Paper-cuts and Stiles were often the bane of Derek's life. The fact that she was in pain, terrified, and bleeding away quietly to herself was very concerning.

Derek kept watching, Stiles was leaning towards her left side and keeping her right side from touching everything. She didn't stop flinching at all during the pack meeting, and every time she got a text she would still shake and her fear increased every time someone looked at her curiously. No one else asked though, even though they must have smelt the same things that Derek had, felt the same feelings rolling off her. Derek sighed to himself, newly bitten wolves, no matter how much training they had been given up to now, were still as unobservant and frustrating as ever.

Eventually, Derek found an opportunity to speak to Stiles as she went to get a drink from the newly refurbished kitchen. She was bent over and digging in the freezer for the flavoured ice cubes she'd made the other day when Derek turned up.

"Stiles." Derek watched with mild amusement as she yelped and jumped, hitting her head a little on the edge of the freezer before she spun around and glared at Derek indignantly.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Jesus, Derek. Give a girl some notice before you sneak up behind them when they have their head buried in a box of ice, it's totally not okay for you to just do thin-"

"Stiles!" Derek huffed out in irritation, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall by the door. He narrowed his eyes in concern as Stiles flinched at his tone, curling her arms around herself and looking down to the floor. Nothing about this behaviour matched with his idea of Stiles, the once again increasing scent of fear made him want to wrinkle his nose.

"Sorry, sorry."Stiles murmured under her breath, glancing up at Derek through her bangs and then down again once she'd made sure he was still there. "What did you want me for?" Derek sighed slightly, pushing off from the wall and taking a few steps closer to Stiles. She flinched minutely with every heavy footstep he took, curling into herself tighter and tighter. Once he was about a step away from the terrified girl, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Stiles' thin wrist, trying not to flinch himself as he realised how prominent her bones were, how thin she'd gotten. He was snapped out of his observations as he felt her stiffen and tense underneath his hand, the way she whimpered lightly under her breath, he looked up just in time to see the honestly terrified, pained look in her eyes before she dropped her head again and tried not to pull away from him. Derek pulled his hand away slowly, trying not to startle her again.

"Stiles," he began quietly. "Stiles, can you look at me please." He waited while she raised her head slightly, gazing at him with her expressive eyes.

"Tell me what's wrong?" Derek asked lightly, trying to keep his body relaxed and as non-threatening as possible. He watched closely as pain and terror filled her eyes again before it vanished and she dropped her head again.

"Nothing." Stiles mumbled, before she shook herself out, gathered herself up and looked up at him. There was a smile plastered on her face that didn't reach her eyes, and he could still smell the fear and pain rolling off her. If anything, this forced happiness worried him more than he was before. "Nothing, I'm wonderful. We all are, we won! Why wouldn't everyone be celebrating, i know i am! Anyways, better get back before the others come looking, huh." Derek watched as she visibly gathered up her strength and will, and then she swerved around him and headed towards the door. He whirled around and watched her until she got to the door.

"I can smell the pain, the fear. Stiles. I can smell that you're bleeding somewhere on the right hand side of your body. What. Is. Wrong?"

"Seriously, i'm fine. Still a little shaken, but i got thrown into a tree and was unconscious, man! I probably bust one of my stitches or something when i hopped out of the jeep. Nothing's wrong." There was a definite, clear jump in her heartbeat that time, obvious even though her heart was still beating too fast and hard. He could practically feel the way she was curling in on herself and flinching away from his gaze, even though she still had her back to him. Slowly, making sure he was loud enough for her to know he was approaching, Derek made his way back to her. He didn't touch her this time, not wanting to experience the knot in his stomach getting tighter if she tensed again under his touch.

"You're lying to me, Stiles." Another flinch and Derek wanted to throw things because Stiles was not meant to be this scared of him, of anyone, anymore. Slowly, she turned back to him, purposefully keeping her head up to meet his eyes.

"Am not.' Stiles replied with a false bravado in her voice that made Derek wince, it was too cold and fake to be the real Stiles' confidence. He didn't call her on it though, choosing instead to believe that soon enough she would trust him enough to tell him what was going on.

"Fine, but at least let me take a look at the stitches. We can clean and cover them until Melissa or someone can fix them." And, oh. That brings out an entirely new scent in Stiles. Similar to the fear and terror she'd been giving off for the past hour, but hedging more towards hysterical, panicked. She backed swallowed over and over for a minute, trying to look anywhere but Derek.

"N-No, it's erm.. I can have my d-dad do it y'know. I'll get going now and have him look at it. Yeah, good idea. I'll do that. Bye!"

Derek was too shocked at the fact that everything she just said was a lie, heartbeat skipping and jumping, especially over the word 'dad', to stop her before she made it out of the kitchen and to the front door. Without a look back at the pack, now collected with confused looks on their faces in the passageway, she slammed the door behind her and ran to her jeep. They all listened as her breathing became shorter and heavier, smelt the salt from the tears that had started once the door had closed, heard her faulty old jeep rattle its way dangerously out of the forest. Eventually, when they could no longer hear anything Stiles related, the entire pack turned towards him looking worried and confused. They were scenting the residual emotions Stiles had left floating in the air.

"What the hell was that, dude?" Scott demanded, nose wrinkled like it was when Stiles had first walked in. Derek sighed, turning back to look at the door Stiles had just slammed behind her.

"I have no idea." He murmured in reply.

But he was damn well going to find out.


	2. Observations

Stiles avoided pack for three weeks after that, making excuses over texts to Issac or Scott to miss pack meetings and bonding nights. With [school out](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/2/Flinching), none of them could corner her there to find out what was going on, and Scott was too wrapped up in trying to make his relationship with Allison work to make time to visit her. Derek was getting worried, and as much as he didn't want to have to resort to measures like this in order to just talk to the stubborn girl, he found himself following her as she made a late night trip to the 24/7 petrol station on Main Street.

Even from the distance Derek was at, he could see the changes in Stiles in just three weeks. She was skinnier, if that was possible, and looked exhausted. As she hopped out of the jeep, Derek saw her wince in pain and could smell the same wave of fear and almost hysteria coming from her. He could see bruises on both her arms peeking out from under her hoodies sleeves, could smell the remaining blood from scratches and lesions somewhere on her legs and her back. It made him curl his fists in anger, someone had dared to injure a member of his pack, dared to hurt  _Stiles_. It was wrong, she was supposed to be safe and protected now. There wasn't any threats in town, that he knew of, and in relative terms they could all carry on normal lives.

Yet there was Stiles; beautiful, brave,  _human_  Stiles. Injured, in pain, hiding from the pack. Derek's wolf howled beneath his [skin](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/2/Flinching), made his entire body shake with the rage he felt towards whoever had hurt her. In his mind, he tried to flick through people who could possibly be doing this. Her heart had stuttered when she talked about her father, but Derek knew somewhere deep inside of him that it couldn't be the Sheriff. There was the Argents, but Chris and the pack have a truce now, and Gerard had disappeared. The Alpha pack was gone, Jackson was no longer the Kanima, the pack had stopped throwing her into things a while back. There was not a single thing in Beacon Hills, that Derek could think of, that could be causing this.

He was about to step out of the shadows he was hiding in, [cross over](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/2/Flinching) to Stiles and demand to know what the actual hell was going on, but her heart picked up suddenly, pounding along with a much more potent stench of fear and terror. Derek heard the car next, coming along the road behind him and pulling into the station behind Stiles' jeep. He watched her closely as she pressed her back against her jeep, clenching her fists by her side tightly and tried to slow her breathing.

The dark SUV that had pulled in had two people inside, male from what Derek could smell, and he only faintly recognised their scents as they stepped out of the car. Both had at least one gun and two knives that Derek could smell, but they weren't pulling them, just advancing towards Stiles with self-satisfied smirks on their faces. He knew he had to let this play out for a while, listen in to find out what was going on here, but seeing Stiles in so much distress was causing him pain. Vowing to intervene if things got out of hand, he focused in on the sounds of their conversation.

"So lovely to see you again, Genéve." Creep #1 in the brown leather jacket cooed to her, one hand flat to Stiles' jeep beside her head, the other tracing a line down her arm. The other chuckled, leaning against the jeep on the other side, trapping her between them. Derek wanted to snap every finger of the man currently running fingers along Stiles' skin like he had a right to. She didn't even bat him away, instead whimpering lightly under her breath and squeezing her eyes shut.

"I s-saw you last week." She murmured, terror lacing each word. "I have another week before..before.." Stiles trailed off, leaving Derek to wonder what the hell was going on here. Were these some kind of debt collectors, bailiffs? Creep #2 in the tight black shirt chuckled.

"We were thinking we should.. Step up payment, shall we say. He's getting unsettled, you see, and it's taking more time and effort to keep him away from you and your precious _pack."_ He spat the word out like it was evil, making Derek growl lightly to himself.

"We're going to need more in compensation for our efforts." Creep #1 leaned in so close to Stiles that from where Derek was hidden, their hairs merged together and he could see his lips moving against her ear.

"We'll see you sometime this week, Genève." Creep #1 whispered against her skin.

"Tell anyone, and you know what will happen." Creep #2 commented before they both pushed away from her, getting back in their SUV like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They screeched out of the lot, making Stiles flinch. He watched her as she listened to the car drive away, still frozen in his spot. Stiles was crying, quietly, but steadily, as he watched her climb shakily into her jeep. He waited to hear the inevitable sounds of a panic attack, for the sobs to begin, but they never did. Derek was really still too shocked to act as Stiles started up her jeep and left, heading back towards her house.

* * *

 

Once Derek could think again; and move, breath properly, and fully comprehend that Stiles had left, he went to check and make sure she'd gotten home safely. Her jeep was parked beside the Sheriff's police cruiser, so at least he knew she was relatively safe for now. Then he made his way back to the house, calling his pack to him as he ran. They needed to talk about this, figure it out, because whatever was happening to Stiles was bad, wrong. It had obviously been going on a while, if that conversation was anything to go by, and they needed to figure out who the hell those men were before they could do anything about it.

Jackson, Lydia, Boyd, Erica, Danny and Isaac were already at the house by the time he got back. They watched him anxiously as he paced, lost in thought, as they waited on Scott and Allison, who turned up half an hour after everyone else had gotten there.

"Where the hell have you been?" Derek growled, flashing angry red eyes at them both as they strolled into the sitting room holding hands.

"Where the hell have you been?" Derek growled, flashing angry red eyes at them both as they strolled into the sitting room holding hands.

"It's half one in the morning, Derek, we were sleeping." Scott replied, pulling Allison down into the love seat beside him. Derek just growled again, returning to pacing the room and running his hands through his hair harshly as he tried to figure everything out.

"Derek, what's going on?" Lydia sounded a mix between concerned and annoyed, snapping Derek back into reality. He'd half forgotten the pack was there, concentration on the replay of the confrontation in his mind.

"I just saw Stiles." Derek muttered, perching on the edge of the arm chair, elbows balanced on his knees.

"Where?" Scott questioned, glancing around the room confused. Jackson rolled his eyes at him, and Lydia sighed.

"She's obviously not here, jackass." Jackson replied before turning his attention back to Derek.

"What happened?" He questioned.

"I was following her, she was stopped at the 24/7 on Main when a SUV pulled up with two men in. They crowded her, called her by her first name, said something about bringing payments forward and someone getting restless to come back here. They called her a.." Derek swallowed, trying to get himself and his annoyed wolf under control. "They called her a werewolf sympathiser slut, and promised to see her soon. She's doing something, to protect this pack, and I don't like it. We need to figure out what the hell is going on." Derek growled out that last part lowly, eyes flashing between human and Alpha.

"Are they.. Do you think they're hurting her?" Scott asked, eyes narrowed in confusion, making Derek growl yet again in frustration.

"Of course they are, you imbecile! Didn't you smell her last time she was here? God, she smelt like pain, and fear, and  _blood_." Erica was dangerously close to losing her control, Isaac and Boyd both reached out at the same time to pull her towards them, offering the comfort of pack.

"She said she was fine, though! I thought she ran out of here 'cause Derek scared her again or something!" Scott whined, trying to talk his way out of his being unobservant.

"Shut up." Derek barked at Scott. "It doesn't matter. Yes, they're hurting her. She's covered in bruises, smells like pain and terror. There's something missing that used to be there, too. Did anyone else get that last time we saw her?" Jackson, Isaac and Danny nodded.

"Yeah, like some part of her was gone, like the part of Stiles that made her Stiles. I don't know, her innocence or something." Danny was a newly turned wolf, but he had some of the best senses and control Derek had ever seen from a bitten wolf. The others who had smelt it nodded while the rest listened in with concern.

"What did they look like?" Allison asked quietly. Derek looked up, and the girl looked pale and sickly.

"Dark hair, muscular. I was too far away to see clearly. They smelt slightly familiar, Both carried knives and guns, One was in a brown leather." Derek kept an eye on her as she grew more fidgety beside Scott, listened as her heartbeat increased. "You know who they are." It was a statement, not a question, and Allison nodded in reply.

"I thought they'd all left when he disappeared. I promise, if dad and I had known they were here, we would have told you." She whispered, not daring to look up at him. Scott wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in a little closer.

"Who is it, Allison?" Scott asked gently, and Derek let him take over questioning for a little while. He and Allison were still on somewhat shaky grounds, more likely to clam up under interrogation from him. When Scott asked, she looked up with tears in her eyes.

"I think they're hunter friends of G-Gerard's. If it is, they were -urm, they were there when Stiles was taken after the game. They helped him try to gather information from her. I don't know how, I just know that if it's them, they were both there." She rambled, risking a glance up at Derek and the others before dropping her gaze again and blinking away tears.

"And you have no idea what they did to her, or why they'd still be here now?" Allison looked up, scared, and shook her head no.

"Do you think it's safe to say the person they're telling Stiles the payment is for is Gerard?" Danny asked, glancing between Derek and Allison. Allison shook her head, no, again.

"Dad tracked him down to San Diego, got some hunter buddies to keep an eye on him. He's not moved, not even thought about coming back it would seem. He was going to send me to tell you tomorrow, well, later today. If they're using Gerard as a threat against Stiles, then they're lying."

"Probably safe to assume they're lying." Boyd grumbled under his breath, pulling Derek's attention to him.

"You remember the two we're talking about from you're time with Gerard?" Boyd glanced at Erica, who nodded slightly.

"They were cruel to us, good at torture, but they left when Gerard called them. They'd moved Stiles to another room, but we could hear a little bit. About five minutes after they were called away we heard them kind of.. Groaning I guess you could say, and Stiles was screaming. We could smell her pain, and her blood."

"And you didn't think to mention this earlier?" Derek demanded.

"We didn't know what had happened, and Stiles never mentioned anything specific. We just figured it came under 'tortury stuff' as she called it." Erica shot back defensively. Derek sighed, but conceded the point. He'd never made Stiles talk about what had happened whilst with the Argents either. They sat in silence for a while, considering and confused, before Lydia let out a very un-Lydia like whimper. Derek's head whipped around to look at her. She had wide eyes, brimming with tears, her concern was wavering with anger and disgust.

"What is it?" Jackson asked her quietly, grasping her hand tightly in his.

"You said they were.. Groaning, right?" Lydia asked uncertainly, receiving a small nod from Boyd.

"And you guys said she smelt like she'd lost something, like her innocence?" Lydia turned her attention to Danny, who's own eyes widened in shock, and then pain, and then rage.

"No." He growled out under his breath, but not like he was denying that it was what had been said, but instead trying to deny whatever thought had come to him.

"What is it that you have thought of that we haven't Lyds?" Jackson asked gently, a finger under her chin turning her back to look at him.

"What if they took her  _innocence,_ innocence Jacks?" She blinked away tears, trying in vain to hold back the tears bubbling behind her eyelids.

"Lydia, what are you trying to say?" Derek asked uncertainly, mouth dry with the fear that he understood what she meant. God, he didn't want her to be right, he didn't want her to say what he knew she was going to say. Lydia looked away from Jackson, over her shoulder at Derek, and then down at her fingers picking at the seam of her skirt. Eventually, after she'd taken some deep breaths and blinked away yet more tears, she looked back over her shoulder at Derek.

"I think-" She paused and swallowed, mirroring the own pain and horror that Derek thought would be visible on his own face right now. He really, really didn't want her to say what she was about to say, but she was going to anyway. Eventually, she found her voice again, although it had dropped to a whisper.

"I think they raped her."


	3. Hiding Away

Derek can feel the growl growing in his chest, his disbelief, anger and disgust warring with each other. Lydia was sobbing quietly into Jackson's chest as he rubbed her back soothingly, but his face was twisted in horror, along with everyone elses.

"No,no. I- He wouldn't have made them..No." Allison whispered to herself, eyes wide and staring at nothing, lost in her thoughts. Erica turned and snarled at her.

"And what other explanation is there, Argent?!" She demands, growl ripping from her. Derek knows he should restrain her, make Erica pull her wolf back, but he'd frozen. He doesn't want to believe it, god he doesn't want to believe that anyone could do that to Stiles, but it makes sense. It makes more sense than he's been able to make of anything for the past month. His wolf is itching under his skin, aching for escape, for [retribution](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/3/Flinching) to the horror he knows has been inflicted, is  _still_  being inflicted, on one of his pack members.

"We don't know anything yet! We need to talk to Stiles." Scott. Goddamn Scott, always choosing Allison over pack, over his best friend. It should have been the right thing to say, if he meant it in a way that supported Stiles, but it didn't. He was just backing his hunter girlfriend up, again. Derek finally let out the growl that had been growing in his chest, forcing the others to shut up in their petty arguments. Lydia, tears still falling down her face, turned her head to the side on Jackson's chest to look at him.

"Petty arguing over this is wasting time. Whatever is happening, whatever has happened, it needs fixing. Stiles is pack. Scott's right, we need to talk to her. But right now, we need to discuss what we're going to do if...if what we think has happened has really happened. Figure out how to get her  _safe_." Derek waited until everyone had calmed down a little before continuing, although the scents of disgust and horror were still flooding the room.

"Whatever is happening, Stiles is hurt and she's pulling away from us. So first thing we need to do is convince her to turn up to a meeting or bonding night, and one of us needs to be watching her at all times."

"School starts on Monday, Jackson give her and i lifts home after swim practice on Tuesdays. We could bring her here." Lydia hiccupped, pulling away from Jackson and brushing the tears away from her face. This was one of of the reasons Derek liked having Lydia as part of the pack, she was always efficient and good in a crisis. No matter what the crisis.

Jackson nodded, pulling back one of Lydia's hands and gripping it between both of his, seeking comfort from pack touch.

"Yeah, we can do that. She'll throw a fit about it, but i'd rather-" He swallowed convulsively, looking down and then up to Lydia. It was one of the ways they'd been teaching him to open up, to tell it to her while the pack was around, the one person he trusted without fail. "I'd rather she be with us to throw a fit, than out there and in danger of those bastards." Derek gave him a one sided smile, a silent well done for being able to show concern for another pack member. It had taken them a long time, but they were getting there with Jackson.

"I can get my dad to look into what they're still doing around, if you want?" Allison questioned quietly, voice barely above a whisper, clinging to Scott's arm.

"Yes. That's fine Allison. Have him ring me so we can meet at some point about this. We'll probably need his help along the line." Allison nodded meekly, shoulders sagging with relief at not being rebuffed or growled at again.

"Other than that, there's nothing else we can do until we speak to Stiles. I'll take the night watch. Erica and Boyd, you two replace me at about 7. Isaac and Danny, relieve them at about midday. Jackson and Scott at about 7 tomorrow evening and then i'll take over at about 1am. Do not let her out of you sight, or at least your sense range. Allison and Lydia, i need you to figure out anything and everything you can about these men and Gerard's plans at the moment. I don't care how you do it, just do it. And report in when you have anything important. Meet me back here after school on Monday. Go home now, get some rest. Do not hesitate to call me if anything happens."

Derek waited for the rest of the pack to leave before heading off himself, taking the few moments it took them to get into their cars and drive away to get himself under control and calm. Once his wolf had settled, he took off running towards the Stilinski household.

* * *

Stiles had gone past exhausted. Past any word that could describe a lack of rest, really. Any sleep that she did get was filled with nightmares, panic attack inducing nightmares. When they'd first started, and she'd been screaming in her sleep, her father had come to comfort her. Now though, six months down the line, she knew he just lay in his bed and cried along with her as he listened to her through the walls. For four months, he'd only come to check if she couldn't get her breathing under control by herself.

Her father had also given up on trying to make her eat, talk, concentrate and convincing her to lay off the Adderall.

She was constantly on edge, flinching and jumping at the smallest of unexpected sounds or movements. Always listening for the rumble of an SUV engine or the chuckles of the men that she knew meant that it was time. Time for payment, time to keep them safe.

Stiles knew she was weak, human, a liability. Her only skill was research, but now that Allison and Lydia were part of the pack, they hardly need her. There was no other way to help, not other way to protect them, and it wasn't even something she'd thought of herself.

When Gerard had taken her from the bleachers at the championship game, she'd been terrified. She'd held out though. Held strong through the pain of him breaking her ribs, bruising her cheekbones, splitting her lip. She'd held strong through the insults, and the promises of better things if she just gave up the information he wanted.

The moment she watched his expression change from slightly amused/mental to hard and cold and fucking  _cruel,_ she'd wanted to not hold out anymore. She'd know something bad, something horrific, was coming. Then he'd called those two men through, Densi and Markus, and Stiles had just known. She'd known that this was it, this was a girls worst nightmare. They had that look, one that told her they knew they would enjoy doing whatever Gerard asked them to do. And what he'd asked them to do had been the one thing Stiles hadn't thought she would hold out through.

She did though. She held out, disgusted by the feel of their hands on her, their bodies pressed against hers, the fucking sounds they were making, the way they moved and touched and hurt her just enough to make her scream. It made her stronger, it made her not want to give into the kind of people that could do this to a teenage girl without any fucking remorse. Without an ounce of guilt, just because she choose to support the werewolves, the ones that were  _meant_  to be the monsters. But really, who in this situation was the monster?

They stopped eventually, but everything she had been through had been for nothing. They'd found out where the pack was, and even though it turned out in the best way possible in the end, she still felt empty and cold, disgusted and dirty.

Stiles had been sure she'd never let another person near her again, never let someone touch her like that again. But when Densi and Markus approached her, three weeks later, with promises of getting the Argents to sign the treaty if she let them use her, hurt and defile her, make her scream in pain and cry to get away again. She let them.

Stiles let them because she knew it was the only way, the last way, for her to keep the pack safe. And she'd been right, so fucking right, because in the end they'd only won against the Alpha pack because the Argents had been treaty-sworn to give aid in the event of other wolves and supernatural beings and non-Argent related hunters trying to cause war on Hale Pack land.

After that, Stiles isn't really sure what happened. They kept coming to her, claiming that if she let them keep  _touching_  her - if she called it anything else, accepted it for what it was, she'd go insane - they'd keep Gerard Argent away from the Hale Pack, help Stiles keep the people she loved safe. It was a lie, she knew it somewhere inside, but she also knew that if she resisted, if she denied them, they could ruin her and the pack's lives quicker than she could warn them it was happening. So she let them. Stiles let them use her and justified it to herself as keeping the pack safe.

Eventually though, that justification wasn't enough. Stiles was terrified. Fucking terrified of everything. For a while she could hide it under the constant scent of terror and fear and panic that came with the threat of the Alpha pack. After that though, she knew they'd notice. She'd have nothing to hide it behind, blame it on. And they had. Or, at least, Derek had.

Which is what led her to now. Half three in the morning, home after being accosted by the two men who'd been  _touching_  her in a 24/7 petrol station in the middle of the fucking town, curled up as tight as she could in the corner furthest from her door and her window. Holding herself together, holding back the nightmares, just trying to breathe through the terror and pain and disgust. It wasn't even disgust in them anymore. It was in herself, because she knew that if she told. If she told her dad, or the pack, or the Argents, or chose all three of those options, then she could be safe again. But she couldn't, because what if they didn't believe her, or believed she deserved that pain and terror as much as she'd begun to believe that she deserved it. What if it backfired and she put the pack in danger again.

After Derek had cornered her in the kitchen with his soft questions and his caring attitude and those goddamn pleading eyes, she'd run from them. Kept her distance and kept them safe as well as she could.

She hadn't eaten properly in months, throwing up almost everything she got down. She hadn't slept in longer. Stiles was surviving on willpower, and Adderall. A lot of Adderall. She knew she'd lost too much weight, knew she was covered in bruises and scratches and  _pain_  that her father could see even hidden under layers of hooded jackets and baggy jeans. She knew that she couldn't hide from the pack much longer, school started in two days, and if they didnt't corner her there then Stiles knew they'd come searching for her eventually. But for now, all she could do was curl up in a ball in the corner of her room and hold herself together with arms around her knees and an almost empty bottle of Adderall at her feet. Wait for them to find her again, because she'd give in and leave the house eventually. She had to, with school looming, and running out of both her and her fathers medications. Hope and pray that the pack might find her first, even if she also wished they wouldn't find her at all. Even though they'd never saved her when she'd prayed, and screamed, and cried for them before.

But that didn't matter, none of that matters.

Protect the pack, at any cost.

 


	4. Attacks

"So I talked to my dad and he said he knew nothing about them being still in town, but he's got people checking into them and into Gerard now. And he'll help with perimeters around Stiles' house and stuff if you need it?" Derek hummed, half listening to Allison on the phone as he watched Stiles through her window from a tree opposite. She was curled up in a ball, had been all night, the only thing to have changed is that she's now moved to her bed. He can hear the horrible irregularity of her heart, the [hitches](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/4/Flinching) in her breathing at every unexpected sound, the rancid stench of the medication she'd been taking all night. It was driving him crazy, not being able to interfere yet.

"Derek are you even listening?" Allison demanded down the phone.

"I'm watching Stiles, Allison. [Listen](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/4/Flinching), can you just tell your dad to meet me at midday at the usual place tomorrow? We can discuss it then."

"Yeah I guess. Is everything okay? Is Sti-" Derek swiped his finger across the screen, ending the call. He didn't want to talk about how Stiles was right now, it was difficult enough to watch, never mind repeat to someone. Even from his spot across the road, he could smell the fear and pain rolling off Stiles. He could smell the guilt and apprehension coming from her father even in his sleep. The now unmistakable scent of lost innocence mixed in with all of that, and now that Derek has a pretty good idea of what's going on, it's hard to believe he ever missed what that meant in the first place.

If what they believed had been happening, has been happening since Stiles was taken the night of the championship game, then it's been more than 6 months. Six whole months of these scents, this pain, surrounding Stiles and they'd never realised. He was an Alpha, her Alpha, and he'd never realised. The guilt and horror that caused him felt like a punch to the gut, the air rushing from his lungs in a harsh exhale. It doesn't even matter that he can't understand why Stiles wouldn't just tell them that this was going on, just that he didn't realise that something inherently wrong was happening.

Stiles was human; fragile, beautiful, breakable.  _His_. It made his blood feel like it was boiling, his wolf stir and growl in rage, his stomach turn with nausea; just to think about what those monsters had done to her. Derek knows he's messed up with Stiles along the way, fighting the way he felt and what it meant, hurting her and pushing her away. He knows that even if he can save Stiles from this situation, he might never be able to be with her the way he wants to be. Yet, he also knows he's never hurt her like this, would never hurt her like this. Not in any way. He wouldn't have her curled up in fear, pain, disgust. Derek wouldn't have disgraced her innocence and destroyed her soul like this, and all he wants to do is go back to a time when all Stiles had to worry about was finals and prom and her dad. Even if that meant he never met her. Even if that meant he'd never be with her. Even if it meant his own demise. He just wants that back for her, but he's a realistic guy, and he knows he can't do that for her now. Not now. Not after all of this.

So he'll rescue her instead, just like she's rescued him an uncountable amount of times. And hope to God that it's enough.

* * *

 

Erica and Boyd arrive to replace him in the morning, and all he says is 'She didn't sleep at all and she's been popping Adderall like it's going out of fashion. Keep a very,  _very_ close eye on her.' Before he runs off towards his house for a shower and some food before he has to meet with Chris Argent. Derek still feels sick, a horrid churning in his stomach, over everything they'd figured out and everything he'd seen over the past day. He can feel it, somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, that this is all going to come to a head soon and it wouldn't be pretty. Something, he could just tell, was going to go wrong, and it had him on edge. Overly vigilant on his way home, checking the surrounding pack land and every entrance to the house before he relaxes enough to take a quick shower, change, and reheat a plate of the lasagna Isaac had made two nights ago.

Derek gets to the meeting place a few minutes early, and waits in the coffee shop that had become an unofficial Hale Pack- Argent meeting ground. It was close to the centre of town, plenty of innocent public members around. The least likely place for a scene to start, much less a wolf vs. hunter battle. He's endlessly glad that Stiles and Allison suggested this place instead of anything more formal. He's wrapping his hands around a newly delivered white chocolate mocha - another thing Stiles had introduced him to, that he'd enjoyed, much to his surprise - when Chris walks through the door, throws his order of 'strong black and large' at the waitress and then seats himself in the booth opposite Derek with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Allison informed me of what you have… discovered." His face twists into disgust, and Derek is reminded that this hunter in front of him is a father. Someone who has had to consider that crimes like this could happen to his own daughter, had spent his life protecting her from all different kinds of monsters. To know it's happening to someone else's daughter must feel like torture to Chris.

Then again, it feels like torture to Derek too. He can hardly begin to comprehend how Stiles must be feeling.

"Have you found out anything about the men?" Derek inquires, taking a sip of his sweet caffeine and sighing at the memories of Stiles that taste inspires. Chris nods and sighs.

"Their names are Densi Bowman and Markus Stone, heavy men for my father. Or, at least, they were. I have people monitoring my father; calls, emails, any contact and movement. He has not ordered them to do this, apart from what you believe to have been the first time."

"So the things they are telling Stiles to keep her co-operation are lies?" Derek asks, focusing on Chris' heartbeat. It's vital he knows the man isn't lying here.

"All lies. The pack is safe from hunters as far as we know." Not a single jump in his heartbeat, no increase in sweat or twitching fingers. Argent isn't lying, so he nods and sighs again.

"This needs to be fixed, at any cost. How do you propose we go about it?" Derek is only asking because of the treaty, because he really wants to fucking rip the heads off of those men.

"As a father, I want to say kill them. But they're human. Stiles' own father is the Sheriff, surely we could utilise him here?"

"I'm sure. From the look of things, he knows something is going on but not what. If we can clue him in, aid him in tracking them down and taking them in, Stiles would be safe again."

"I'd be more than willing to help with tracking them and taking them to the police. If we can orgi-" Derek cuts him off with a finger held in the air. His phone is ringing, and a glance at the screen tells him it's Erica.

"What's wrong?" He demands.

" _Stiles just left the house, told her dad something about picking up new medication. She's heading towards Main Street and she smells funny. I've text the others to be alert if they're near by, just thought we should update you."_

"Okay. Thanks Erica." Derek sighs. "Chris Argent and I are near Main right now, so we'll keep a look out. Can you send another text out and gather some of the others for Stiles watch? I think we should increase people power if she's out of the house."

" _Lydia and Jackson are already on their way, something about shopping so they're close by. I'll give Isaac, Danny and Scott another text. We're not far from them, so listen for the howl if we need you, yeah?"_

"Yeah, fine. Be careful." Derek ended the call and exhaled loudly.

"What's happened?" Chris asks, taking a sip of his newly delivered coffee.

"Stiles just left the house, heading towards us to pick up medication from Main. Erica said she smelt  _funny_ so I increased a watch on her." Chris nodded, swallowing his coffee down quickly and sliding out of his chair.

"Come on then. If we're around, we might as well be of some assistance." Derek agrees, whole-heartedly, which is weird when in the context of Argent related business. Standing and following the hunter from the shop and into the street.

* * *

Derek hears the sounds of Stiles old jeep before he sees it, rounding the corner and pulling into a parking space close to a row of shops opposite them. There's a pharmacist, some high end boutique and a diner, more shops curved around alleyways and street corners beside them. He and Chris are sitting in Derek's car, watching as the jeep just idles there for a moment. He can see Erica and Boyd lingering in the tree's on the side of the road, and Jackson and Lydia making their way discreetly into the boutique. He smiles to himself a little. The pack had become more concrete recently, more like a family, and it was obvious now that this family revolved itself around a linchpin personality. Around Stiles.

They watch intently as Stiles climbs from her jeep carefully, wincing in pain as her feet met the ground. Derek is grateful he can't smell blood this time, but the scent of medication is so strong it almost makes him gag.

"What's up?" Chris mutters, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

"She smells like too much ADD medication and pain." Derek replies, eyes trained on Stiles as she makes her way into the pharmacy. Chris just nods once and goes back to watching the shop through his binoculars.

"There's someone in there, I can't see them clearly though. Keep an eye out." Derek knows that Chris isn't just talking to him, the entire pack and their wolf hearing knows what's being said inside the car. Derek watches as Jackson emerges from the shop, leaning somewhat casually against the wall and observing things behind his sunglasses. Erica and Boyd move closer, taking cover beside a shop on the other side of an alleyway. Isaac and Danny come into view on the roof of the pharmacy just as Stiles enters the store.

The scent of medication from Stiles and the store almost overpowers the actual scent of Stiles. He can hardly pick her out of the crowd of people milling around Main Street right now. It sets an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, twisting him into knots on the inside. Not being able to really smell Stiles is wrong. So, so wrong.

"Someone get closer. I can't smell her anymore." Derek says out loud, glancing discreetly at his wolves. He wonders where Scott and Allison are briefly, but now is not the time to worry about that.

"I can hardly smell her around the medication and I'm right on top of the building, Derek. We can't get any closer. Can anyone see her?" Isaac replies, voice barely reaching Derek's ears. There are negative replies on having Stiles in sight.

"Chris, can you see Stiles in the store?" Derek murmurs, trying to focus all of his senses at once to the store.

"I can't see anything, there are shelves blocking most of the store." Derek nods, still concentrating hard on the store. He can't even make out heartbeats inside because of the sheer amount of people around.

"Jackson, get Lydia and make your way to the pharmacy. I want you to go inside and see what's happening. If she sees you, make it seem accidental." Jackson gives him a barely perceivable nod in reply and disappears into the shop, reappearing a moment later with Lydia on his arm. They're good at this, Derek observes, as they stroll absently towards the store. Jackson holds the door open for her with a smirk, which she rolls her eyes at, and then they're both lost inside the stench of medication too.

Derek doesn't know if he's being impatient, but when Lydia pops her head out of the door to the store, both he and Chris breathe out in relief. Until Derek smells the panic radiating off her. He's out of the car and cross the road towards the store, Chris on his heels, before he even acknowledges that Lydia is waving him over madly.

"What is it? What's wrong?!" Derek demands, worry hidden behind a growl. Lydia pushes the door to the store open wider, allowing the two men in, then following after them.

"She isn't in here. Jackson said there is a kind of familiar scent in here, and the pharmacist looks kind of shaken." Lydia reports as they make their way to the counter where Jackson is towering over the old man, glowering.

"Where is she? Where did they take her?" Derek demands, fist colliding with the counter top.

"One man came in through the back of the shop, held something metal to my spine and made me let the girl and another man through the back. I did nothing to her, I swear! I swear!" He cries, holding his hands out defensively before him. The rest of the gathered pack members are behind him, he can feel that.

"Did you see which way they went outside?" Jackson fists his hand into the mans collar, pulling him towards them.

"N-no. I just opened the door, let them out, closed the d-door. There's an alleyway back there th-though." He stutters, and Jackson releases his hold on the man. Derek turns to his pack, scenting the anger and worry on them.

"Isaac, Chris I want you to take the left exit of the alley. Erica and Boyd, the right. Danny, can you take the roof, just incase?" All nod. "Jackson, Lydia. With me, back door, now. Everyone be careful."

They all take off, heading in their designated direction without disagreement. The old man points towards the back exit of the pharmacist and Derek, Jackson and Lydia take off in that direction without haste. The scent of medication is still overpowering any smell of Stiles they might have been able to identify, but entering the alleyway released a flurry of Stiles-related sensory indicators slamming into the wolves. They can hear her whimpers, the connection of fists with bones and the sound of her wrists grinding together like they were being held. They can smell her pain, her disgust, her fear. Blood and sweat, the distinctive sound of zippers and vile chuckles.

"No, no, no. Please, no." Derek can hear her whimpering, whispering, praying to a God he's sure she doesn't even believe in. The unmistakable sound of a hand over her mouth, muffling her scream.

And then it registers that there was a scream to stifle. Followed by a sickening sound of skin hitting skin and the scuffling of someone trying to break free of restraints.

"Payment,  _slut_. You know this is payment. Not that it would matter. You  _like_  it. I know you do. How many of those disgusting monsters have you let touch you, whore? How many?" Derek can hear a voice growling at Stiles, saying vile, wrong, disgusting things. Stiles is crying, sobbing, but the sounds of her resisting have dissipated and have been replaced with the scent of resignation, of giving up. It snaps the wolves out of their stupor. All of them had been frozen, listening, smelling, feeling. He could hear Isaac whimpering and the others growling. Derek and Jackson join in the growls.

"Oh, shit." Derek hears one of the men whispers, the sound of clothes being rearranged and zippers fastened. Guns being pulled, and the sound of Stiles falling to the ground. The alleyway was surrounded, there was no escape for these  _monsters._

"Wait for them to appear." Derek growled quietly, knowing his pack had heard him. A few moments later, a gun appeared from around an alcove in the wall, just big enough to fit three people in tightly. Another gun followed, and then the two hunters appeared. The pack converged on them, surrounding them, and they just sneered.

"We have enough wolf's bane bullets to take out your entire pack, Hale." It's a useless statement though, because suddenly Isaac has one of them against the wall, claws around his throat, growling. Chris has his gun pressed hard into the back of the others skull.

"Try it, Markus." Chris growls coldly, taking off the safety with a definite metallic click.

"Argent." Markus spits out.

"Lower your gun, slowly, and kick it towards Derek. Or I will blow the back of your head off." A flash of fear crosses Markus' face, and it gives Derek a great sense of satisfaction. Markus drops his gun to the ground, kicking it in Derek's direction, before Chris pushes him roughly against the wall beside his accomplice. The other one, Densi, is frozen. Isaac's claws are still dangerously close to breaking into his jugular, and Erica and Boyd are backing them up.

"Oh god. O-oh god." A small whimper comes from the floor of the alcove the men had just appeared from and everyone freezes. They'd been so caught up in halting the hunters that they'd almost forgotten Stiles was still in the alleyway.

"Danny, call the Sheriff and have him come arrest these men. Don't tell him what for yet, just tell him he needs to get them into custody right now. Jackson, Lydia, with me." He takes the two slowly towards where they can hear Stiles' laboured breathing, the erratic beat of her heart, the scent of her pain and blood.

He doesn't want to turn the corner and see this. Fuck, he really doesn't want to. Doesn't want to see the damage they've done to the single most important person they all know. Doesn't want to see the state they've left her in. But he has to, so with his pack behind him and an injured Stiles in front of him, he rounds into the dark section of wall and has to stifle his whimper. His fucking  _whimper._

Derek can't move. He's frozen at the sight of Stiles. Jeans ripped and pushed down her legs, revealing bruises, scars, lesions and slashes. Blood dripping from her nose and mouth, bruise forming on her cheekbone. More bruises, new bruises, forming on her thin wrists and arms, across what he can see of her stomach. She's curled in on herself, and he can see the faint line of blood seeping through the side of her shirt from her ribs and he's pretty sure that's a superficial knife wound. Probably used to subdue her.

It doesn't register that both he and Jackson are growling lowly until Lydia pushes past them and rushes to Stiles' side. She gets to her knee's beside her, thrusts her hand towards Jackson.

"Jacket." Lydia demands, not even looking away from Stiles as Jackson shucks off his jacket in autopilot and hands it over to Lydia. She uses it to cover Stiles up.

"Stiles, sweetie. I'm going to put my hands under this jacket and help rearrange your clothes, okay?" Stiles doesn't even resist, just whimpers and nods, letting Lydia handle her. Her hands disappear beneath the jacket and fiddle until Derek hears Lydia murmurs that she's done.

"Can you sit up for me, Stiles?" She asks gently, and finally, finally, Derek spurs into action. He throws his keys at Jackson and tells him to bring his car as close as he can to the right exit of the alley. He turns back to Lydia and drops to his knee's beside her.

"Stiles, I'm going to help you sit okay? Is it okay if I touch you?" Derek asks quietly, hands hovering above Stiles' fragile body. It breaks Derek's heart a little bit when she just nods and squeezes her eyes shut. As carefully as they can, he and Lydia slip their hands beneath her and lift slowly until Stiles is part way up and leaning against Lydia's side. Derek gently probes the bones in her back and side as unobtrusively as he can, feeling the small crack in one of her ribs and the bruises that coated almost all of her body.

"We need to get her to the house before she goes into shock." Lydia whispers, carding her fingers gently through Stiles' hair. Derek nods.

"She's not going to be able to walk. I'm going to have to carry her to the car. You keep hold of her hand, or stroke her hair, so she knows you're here. Okay?" Lydia nods back at him.

"Stiles, sweetheart, Derek's going to pick you up and carry you to the car so we can go back to the pack house okay? You're not going to be able to walk around right now, but he'll be gentle and I'll be right here the whole time, okay?" Derek has never seen Lydia be this gentle with anyone since Jackson was cured of the Kanima. He wishes he'd never have to see her like this, gentle, soft and caring. It means something is so horribly wrong. And this is Stiles, and horribly wrong and Stiles shouldn't be in the same sentence. But this time they are, and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't do anything.

Pushing away his guilt for now, he scoops Stiles -lighter than he ever remembers her being- as gently as he can and makes his way to his car now parked where he'd told Jackson to be. At least Stiles was safe now, he thought to himself.

At least, physically.

 


	5. Papa Stilinski

"Drive." Derek growled. He'd lowered Stiles into the backseat, head on Lydia's lap, and then climbed into the front beside Jackson. It wasn't long before he was twisted in his seat, watching Stiles become less conscious, he could hear the way her heartbeat was irregular and fast, the way her breathing hitched.

"Derek, she's shaking. I think she's going into shock." Lydia was in tears, fingers carding gently through Stiles brunette curls.

"Do you want me to head to the hospital instead?" Jackson questioned, panic filling his voice as he glanced in the mirror into the backseat. Derek shook his head.

"No, keep going to the house." He twisted back into his seat properly, fishing around in his jacket pocket until he found his phone, dialling a member of his pack quickly.

" _Derek, how's Stiles?"_ Erica demanded down the phone.

"Not good. Has the Sheriff arrived yet?" Derek kept [information](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/5/Flinching) about Stiles as short as he could. Not yet sure himself how she really was or what was going to happen before he saw more members of his pack again.

" _Chris said he's about five minutes away, why?"_ God, she sounded so worried, he could hear Isaac whimpering somewhere in the [background](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/5/Flinching) and the sound of those abusive monsters fighting verbally with Chris and Boyd.

"Contact him again and tell him to come to the Hale house instead. Tell him Stiles needs him, and then take the other hunters to the Argent house and keep them there." Derek just ended the call, not waiting for Erica's response, because Stiles' [pulse](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/5/Flinching) was becoming thready and faster by the second, she was shaking and mumbling incoherently under her breath. Truthfully, Derek was terrified. He didn't know what to do. A thrown glance at Jackson had the boy pushing his foot down on the accelerator even harder, rushing towards the pack house and hopefully a solution to this before Stiles went into full blown shock.

"Keep her warm and loosen any tight clothing." Jackson called to Lydia in the back. "It's what the paramedics had me do for Danny when he was attacked outside of Jungle last year. It's all I can remember for people going into shock." Derek shed his jacket and thrust it at Lydia, who wrapped it lightly around Stiles' shivering body. All of the girls clothes were already torn and loose from [weight loss](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/5/Flinching) and the attack. By the time Lydia had checked all of her clothing though, they were at the house, and Derek was scooping her up oh so gently again to rush her into the warmth and protection of his home. Stiles flitted between conscious and semi-conscious as Derek carried her inside, fingers tightening and then relaxing around a fistful of his shirt. He lowered her down onto the sofa in the den and fell to his knees beside her, hands hovering, not sure if he should touch her now that he didn't need to carry her.

Lydia and Jackson came into the room moments later, Jackson with a washcloth and some warm water; Lydia with a towel and a blanket which she lay over the back of the chair Stiles was lying on for now. Jackson nudged Derek out of the way lightly and took his place by Stiles' head, whispering to her lightly as he wrung a cloth out in the water.

"Genéve, you're going to be fine, alright? We'll take care of you, pack will take care of you. You just relax, but try and keep with us okay? I'm going to touch you, just to wipe the dirt and blood away, and Lydia will be drying you off, so don't panic. You're fine, Gwyn. It'll be alright." A year ago, Derek would have been shocked at how kind and gentle Jackson was with Stiles, but time with him and getting to really know him meant that Derek knew that Jackson cared about anyone who took the time to try and care about him too. Stiles had done that, in a round about way, when she'd helped Scott try to stop him killing people, and when she'd driven her jeep into him, literally, and saved him by brining him Lydia. After that, Stiles, as some kind of Pack mom in the time after the kidnapping when no one knew anything was wrong with her, she had taken care of Jackson's insecurities along with Lydia. She had made sure he came to pack meetings and bonding nights, talked to Derek or Lydia or Danny if he was having problems. And now, this here, was Jackson beginning to repay her that kindness.

Thankfully, with Stiles in a safe place, and comforted slightly with placating words, her heartbeat began it's return to normality. Her breathing began to even itself out. Jackson waited until she had taken one full, deep breath before swiping the warm cloth over her cheek, cleaning away dirt and blood and god knows what else. It revealed a deep gash in her cheekbone, just over the bruise they could see developing. He kept wiping gently at her face until it was much cleaner, helping to stem the bleeding and show the full extent of any injuries they might have to treat, before he moved down and brushed a newly wrung out towel over her exposed arms and neck. Sweeping a little over collarbone littered with bites that were bleeding. Those made a growl grow in both Jackson and Derek's throats, startling Stiles and making her flinch back away from them. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes that she didn't even blink away. The stench of fear and panic that had been underlying since they'd found her spiked once again, and it made Derek feel sick that they could cause those emotions in her. He didn't know what to do, and Jackson was looking shell shocked that he'd even let the growl out. Thankfully, Lydia came around to kneel beside Jackson at Stiles' head, carding her fingers through the hair once again.

"It's okay, Stiles. Derek and Jackson are just a little upset. You're pack and you're hurt, it's understandable right? You know none of us would hurt you?" There came a tentative nod from Stiles, who's eyes were now clenched shut as she regulated her breathing once again. Once Lydia deemed her calm enough, she gestured to Jackson to carry on wiping away at Stiles injured skin, and then she turned to Derek.

"There's blood in her hair, I think she's bleeding from her scalp somewhere." She whispered almost inaudibly, trying not to panic Stiles any more, knowing that Derek would hear. Derek nodded and tapped his nose once, pack symbol for 'I can smell it'.

"We'll wait until the Sheriff gets here and see what he and Stiles wants to do. I don't think it's too bad, probably a minor concussion." Jackson whispered back, just loud enough for Lydia to hear, echoing Derek's own thoughts. It seemed they wouldn't have to wait long, however, as the sound of the Sheriff's cruisers sirens echoed throughout the forest towards the house, getting closer and closer. Derek got up off his knee's, rushing out to meet Stiles' father before he reached the door.

* * *

"What's happened to my daughter, Hale?" The Sheriff demanded, Derek watched warily as the mans hand twitched towards the gun at his belt. His face was a contusion of sleeplessness, concern and anger; but Derek could smell panic and terror coming from him too.

"Before you go in there, I need to tell you some things that none of us like." Derek replied, coming as close to Stiles' father as he dared. The Sheriff nodded once, tersely, at him to continue.

"Stiles has been attacked by two hunters."

"She's wha-"

"It's not the worst of it. I know that you've noticed something… off with Stiles too. Very wrong with her. We almost had it figured out this week. Two remaining hunters from Gerard's collection stayed behind. As far as we can tell they've been-" Derek took a deep breath, swallowing convulsively. He didn't want to say this, accept it, burden another person who cared about Stiles with it. He could see that the Sheriff probably knew what was going on, just needed to hear him say it. "As far as we can tell, these men have been abusing, assaulting, Stiles for almost seven months. Since she was kidnapped." Derek felt sick, tired and sick and lost. The Sheriff was blinking away tears that were gathering heavily in his eyes, his heart was racing.

"Assaulting as in-" There was disgust and horror rolling off the man in front of him. Derek nodded.

"Yes. They've been.. Fuck!" Derek growled. "They've been  _touching_ Stiles for 7 months and none of us realised it."

The Sheriff just stood there, eyes glassy, breathing laboured as he absorbed what was said. It took almost two minutes before he looked up at the house and replied to Derek in a whisper.

"And today, what happened today?" He wouldn't look at Derek, keeping his eyes focused on the house like he could see through the walls to his daughter.

"I've had the pack watching her, following her, trying to keep her out of trouble given that she wouldn't come to pack meetings. We lost sense of her, in a pharmacy. Stiles has been taking too much medication, her scent got lost inside all the other chemicals. By the time we got to the store, they'd taken her into the back alleyway behind the shops…"

"Did they-?" A quick glance back at Derek with haunted eyes before they flicked back to the house.

"I think so, she's hurt and she smells like them. We were waiting for you to get here before you decided between you if a hospital was.. Needed." Derek rasped out in reply, trying to keep down the newly developing growl in his diaphragm.

"How badly is she hurt?" He questioned.

"Bleeding from the scalp somewhere. Bruises and lacerations all over he body, face included. At least bruised, if not cracked, ribs. Superficial knife wounds in some places. That's all I saw of upper body injuries. I'm not sure about… anywhere else."

"Where are they now?" The Sheriff had turned his full attention back to Derek now, eyes hard and filled with rage, Derek felt his own similar emotions rise into his expression too.

"Chris and the pack has them at the Argent house, just waiting for you to tell us what you want to do with them." Derek spat out, not even wanting to think about anything but killing those men once he knew Stiles would be okay. The Sheriff nodded, corner of his mouth turning slightly in a cold, empty half smile. Stiles' dad took a step towards the house before pausing, taking a deep breath, and the continuing on his way up the stairs and towards his only daughter. Derek was close behind him the entire way.

* * *

Derek watched with something he thought was close to admiration as the man in front of him strode into the room his daughter was resting and put his own feelings aside. He headed straight for the side of Jackson, laying a hand on his shoulder lightly.

"Thank you, for cleaning her up." He whispered, and Jackson nodded before grabbing Lydia's hand and moving them both to stand beside Derek at the end of the sofa.

"Dad?" Stiles rasped, eyes flickering open to look up at the familiar voice.

"Hey sweetheart." He replied, lowering himself to his knee's and taking her clammy hand in his. "How are you feeling?" He asked gently, thumb rubbing slow circles over her palm.

"You shouldn't be here, seeing me like this." God, Derek's heart broke, It fucking  _broke_  as he watched Stiles pull her hand away from her fathers and clench her eyes tightly. "Shouldn't see me like this." She whimpered under her breath, and Derek was about to say something hopefully reassuring but the Sheriff beat him to it.

"Hey now." He chastised gently. "Where else would I be, huh? My little girl is hurt, where am I always when you're hurt Gwyn?" A broken sob hitched in Stiles' throat as her father took her hand back at the same time he used her mothers old nickname for her.

"You shouldn't be here, dad. I'm- they  _touched_  me and now- now I'm dirty." She hiccupped, clinging to her fathers hand as tight as she could in her weakened state.

"Shh, sweetheart. You're not, you could never be. They are, they're the bad ones here, the ones that did this to you. You did nothing wrong, you hear me? Nothing." He raised his daughters hand, pressing a kiss to the point where their thumbs met and clenched his eyes against the tears just as Stiles was doing. "Now, tell me. How bad does it hurt? You think we need to get you to the hospital?" Derek knew they probably should take her to the hospital. If they wanted to do this legally, have the men put away for a long time, then Stiles would need tests and evaluations and everything else that went along with that. But he wouldn't make her, he wouldn't make her do anything. She could do whatever she liked, just as long as she came through it alive and safe.

"No hospitals, please. Dad, please don't make me go to a hospital." Stiles whimpered, clinging to her dad's hand even tighter.

"Not making you go anywhere. How about we just let Derek, Jackson and Lydia patch you up as well as they can for now until you're feeling a little better and can shower? Sound better?" Stiles sighed and hiccupped again, nodding her consent to this plan. "Okay, Gwyn. I'll leave you with them for now, but I'll be back later. You have one of them call me if you need me, okay sweetheart?" He murmured gently, thumb still on its slow path around her palm.

"Where are you going?" Stiles demanded weakly, panic increasing once again.

"Gotta go find the rest of your pack, deal with the men who did this to you so they never can again. Promise you, Stiles. No one will ever hurt you again." The Sheriff whispered that last part under his breath so low that even Derek almost had trouble hearing him. He pulled his hand out of Stiles' grip.

"Be careful, dad." Stiles choked out, clenching her now empty hand into a fist.

"Always am, pumpkin." Her father replied automatically, a response galvanised from a thousand nights when Stiles had said those words to him before he went off to work. Jackson and Lydia soon filled the space her father had left with soothing words, gentle touches and lukewarm washcloths as Derek followed him to the front door, stopping him just before the threshold.

"She won't go to the hospital. That means no kits. No tests." The Sheriff nodded.

"I know."

"You can't do this legally." Derek knew that the moment the man before him had gone cold when asking about the monsters who did this to his daughter.

"Nope." Came the simple response.

"You let me in on this. You let me hurt them too." Derek demanded. The Sheriff stepped forward, resting one hand on one of Derek's massive shoulders.

"For a long time she was mine, and mine alone. But now she's yours too. I can see it. I wouldn't dream of taking the satisfaction of their pain all for myself." The Sheriff replied, and although his voice was soft, his eyes were cold and hard. Empty of anything but the same innate desire to hurt what had hurt theirs.

"Thank you." Derek replied, and then the Sheriff was peeling out of his drive way towards the Argent household, and Derek went back to trying to figure out how to put back together the most important person he's ever known.

 


	6. Retribution

By the time Derek worked up enough courage again to walk into the room, Jackson and Lydia pretty much had Stiles all cleaned up. Until they managed to get her into a shower and some fresh [clothes](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/6/Flinching), this was about as good as it was going to get. Her clothes, ripped, torn and coated in blood and dirt were only just covering her. He could still smell the stench of those men surrounding her, making his wolf whine and growl with the need to hurt those who hurt his pack. Who dared to hurt  _Stiles._ At the moment, Stiles was curled up as much as possible with her injuries, staring blankly at Lydia who was running fingers lightly through Stiles' lank hair and whispering calming things that Stiles didn't seem to be hearing.

Jackson wandered over to the door that Derek was leaning against, the pain of injured pack etched into new worry lines in his forehead, the start of [frown lines](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/6/Flinching) beside his mouth.

"How does the Sheriff want to handle this?" Jackson asks quietly, hands jammed into his pockets, the same need for revenge and justice that Derek was feeling was rolling off Jackson in waves. Derek levels him with a cool gaze, lets the corners of his mouth tilt into a cruel smirk that Jackson returns, because he knows what that means.

"Ourselves. He's waiting at Argents for us." Derek replies, because he knows he won't be able to keep Jackson out of this. Pretty much all of his pack, maybe not Isaac but that boys seen enough pain and anger in his life, will want in on the ending of Stiles' pain.

"Call Allison and Scott again. I need Allison to come here, Scott to meet us at her dads." Derek nods at Jackson, who pulls out his phone immediately to ring his pack members. Derek was angry with them. They knew that something was going on, that they had to be [available](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/6/Flinching) at all times until they fixed things with the hunters, and yet up until now they'd been unreachable? Not acceptable. But he'd have to deal with it later. Stiles needed him now. Walking over to Lydia and Stiles, he crouches down so that he can talk to his girls quietly, trying not to startle Stiles too much.

"Hey, Stiles?" His voice garners a reaction out of her, something that Lydia had been trying to achieve for ten minutes now.

"Derek," Stiles whimpers, and the look on her face makes Derek want to scream, and bite things, and hold Stiles until it goes away. All at the same time. Instead, he reaches out and gathers her hand in his, covering it with both his larger ones and brushing soft circles over her knuckles.

"I can't even imagine how you're feeling right now, Stiles." Derek murmurs, taking another glance over her damaged body before coming back to meet her eyes. "But I promise, no one will ever hurt you again, okay? We're going to deal with this, as soon as Allison gets here, alright? And you can shower, sleep, eat, do whatever you want while we're out. And when we come back, it'll be done, and you'll be safe. I promise you, Stiles." He's not quite sure where that speech came from, but there are tears in his eyes and he's lowered his mouth to brush lightly over Stiles' fingers, clenched loosely around his own.

"I'm so sorry." Comes Stiles choked response, and Jackson comes back into the room just in time to hear her say it. Kneeling beside Lydia and wrapping an arm around her, he glances between Derek and this new, broken version of Stiles.

"What are you apologising for? You did nothing wrong, Stiles. They did, not you." Derek asks lightly, trying not to push her. Stiles shakes her head, jerking some tears free from the pools gathering in her eyes.

"I was trying to keep you all safe." Stiles whimpered, clutching tighter at Derek's hand. "I was trying to protect you all from them. God, Derek, they threatened  _Isaac_. I couldn't- Not Isaac. Not any of you. I tried but it wasn't enough and now you're in danger again because of me." Derek clenches his eyes shut against the urge to both cry and flash them Alpha red. Those bastards knew what they were doing when they threatened the most innocent, the most broken, member of their pack to Stiles. She cared for them all like they were her family, and they were in everything that mattered. But Isaac. Isaac was different. He crawled into her bed at night when the nightmares came, he went to her first when he was ready to talk about everything that had been done to him. She helped him with his homework, and pushed him to do as well as he could. Isaac was like her child, someone she cared for, cooked for, held when he cried and took photo's of when he smiled.

Yeah, they damn well knew what they were doing when they threatened the pack. And Derek was going to break them for it.

Lydia was buried in Jackson's chest, hiding her tears and sobs from Stiles, and Jackson was just frozen. He was staring at Derek like maybe he had the answers, a way to fix what had been broken here. He had to look away, because that level of blind trust was not something he was comfortable with yet. Instead, he blinked away his tears again and leant forward, pressing a kiss against her forehead and leaving his lips against her cold skin.

"It's our job to keep you safe, Stiles." He whispered against her skin lightly, making her shudder from the feeling of his breath ghosting over her. "I know you were doing what you thought you could to protect the pack, but they took advantage of your love for this family and exploited it. You did nothing wrong, Stiles. Nothing. And we're safe. Isaac will be here with you soon, so will the others. But for now, we're all safe, you're safe." Stiles is shaking against him, moving her hands from his to clutch at his shirt instead, pulling him close until he stops resisting and instead scoops her up and down into his lap, cradling her until Jackson and Lydia join in for the comfort.

It doesn't take long for Stiles to exhaust herself, and Lydia and Jackson move away from them slightly as her breathing deepens and evens out as she slips into sleep. Derek keeps her cradled against his chest, relishing in the fact that here he knows she's safe. When she's with him, close and warm, she's safe.

"Did Scott and Allison answer?" Derek asks quietly over the top of Stiles' head, cushioned in the crook of his neck. Jackson shakes his head.

"Went straight to voicemail, I left a message." Derek suppresses the urge to growl at the insolence of them.

"Call Isaac, get him to come back here to watch Stiles with Lydia, while I take Stiles upstairs to sleep." Derek orders, leaving Jackson and Lydia in the den whilst he stood and carried Stiles as gently as he could. His room was the very last one in a row of 6, and it's there that he takes her to rest. There is privacy here, a bed for her to sleep on, an en suit so that she doesn't need to leave this sanctuary if she needs to shower or anything. He can get to her from more than one entrance, if he counts his window, should the need arise. As gently as he can, he shifts her weight so that he can manoeuvre the blankets and comforter and slide her underneath them, tucking them up and around her like a child until he's sure she'll be warm and safe enough until he gets back. She's fluttering in-between consciousness and sleep as he pulls away, and she reaches across the space between them to gently grasp his fingers.

"Derek?" She whispers, eyes just fluttering open, fighting the need to go back to sleep.

"Yeah?" He replies quietly, not sure if she actually knows what she's doing right now. It's silent for a while and Derek wonders if she's gone back to sleep, he's about to with draw his fingers and leave for the Argents when she finally replies.

"Be safe." She whispers as her breathing evens out again and he knows she back to sleep. It makes his heart swell a little, knowing that those words were said to her father just half an hour ago. He'd never thought he deserved the amount of care Stiles had for him, had for his pack, but the way he felt about her, about her safety. It was like everything revolved around keeping Stiles with them, and maybe it did, maybe that's what everything is about, because it seems to fall apart when she's not around. And so the fact that she says something that he's only ever heard her say to her father, the one person he's absolutely sure she loves beyond any shadow of doubt, is astounding.

"I will." He replies, almost silently, knowing she won't hear him now that she's sleeping again, and then he leaves the room.

* * *

 

saac and Danny were both on their way back to Stiles and Lydia, so it wasn't a surprise when he walked in to the Argent house and found only two other pack members, Stiles father and Chris Argent. Scott and Allison have yet to make an appearance, but he'll have to deal with that later, for now he has to deal with the men who damaged Stiles.

Derek takes the time as he walks towards the people gathered in the kitchen to watch the Sheriff. There's a stiff set to the mans shoulders, a determination in his face that Derek has seen on his own too many times. He knows that it means he's just waiting for this newest hell to be over before he can break down in private. Derek can't even imagine how it must feel, to know that you're only daughter was being abused right under his nose, right in his town, and to not have realised it was happening. He's feeling a similar kind of guilt himself. So stepping into the kitchen with Jackson, he reaches out to the Sheriff and grips his shoulder tightly in a show of emotionally restrained solidarity.

"How is she?" The Sheriff asks once Derek lets go of him, and the rest of them are looking at him.

"Sleeping when we left. Isaac, Danny and Lydia are at the house with her." Not a mention of her actual physical or mental state, because really, Derek's not sure. He'll leave it to Lydia and maybe Allison to help Stiles shower and fix herself up as best they can when she feels like it. They'll report anything bad, he knows that, at least physically. He doesn't really want to imagine the kind of emotional damage these monsters have done to her, though. The Sheriff just nods at his answer, and Chris Argent looks at them both with something akin to sympathy in his face, until one of the men in the basement hollers for some attention. Derek watches as one by one, each of their faces became cold, hard masks. A dangerous smirk works its way into Erica's face and he just knows. He knows that this isn't only about Stiles, but about the damage done to her and Boyd when they were kidnapped, to the pain the entire pack went through trying to live through the Gerard Argent situation. It's retribution and justice and revenge all tied into two human, breakable packages.

"How do you want to tackle this?" Chris asks, looking at Derek as he subconsciously strokes the butt of the gun protruding from his holster. It's something Derek's seen him do before, when he's been itching to cause some damage.

"We take turns. Two at a time. Erica, Jackson. Chris, can you go with Boyd?" Two nods, Derek looks at the Sheriff. "We go together, we end this together." His eyes, reflected in Stiles' fathers, are tinged with read, hard as steel, hot with rage and he gets a cold, calculated smirk in return.

Jackson and Erica, cold and hard, trained to Derek's best ability even in the art of making someone hurt without really damaging them because maybe, one day, it will be necessary. They disappear into the basement, and Derek tries not to eavesdrop on the way Erica holds a knife to one mans eye and growls that he won't heal like she does, that he will just scream and bleed and suffer. He tries not to grin manically when he hears Jackson methodically break a rib, and then a finger, and then a rib again. These aren't noises he's supposed to derive pleasure from, but he does, because he knows that no matter what they do to them now it means that Stiles is safe.

Jackson and Erica emerge fifteen minutes later, speckled with blood and with cold, yet somehow satisfied looks in their eyes. Erica presses a kiss to Boyd's mouth when he and Chris pass them on the way down, and then they're back beside Derek, sticking close to pack, revelling in the justice of this.

Chris and Boyd are forces not to be reckoned with, Derek knows this, but apparently the hunters do not. Derek listens as the taunting begins and knows he'll probably be lucky If there's anything left for him to hurt when he gets down there.

"Fighting with the monsters, Argent?" One spits out loudly, echoing up to them in the kitchen.

"I think we all know who the monsters are here." Chris returns, and then there's a sickening sound of a nose being broken and Derek finds joy in the choked sound of pain that comes after it.

"Defending the werewolves' human slut, huh? She practically begged for it, would do anything to 'protect her pack'." The other growled, and Derek can feel Boyd's rage through the pack bond, he knows when he wraps a hand around the mans throat and lifts him until he is no longer touching the ground, gasping for breath.

"I would rip your throat out here and now." He hears Boyd snarl. "But Stiles' father, and our Alpha, want that satisfaction for themselves." There's no more words exchanged between them after that, as Derek listens to Boyd drop the man, and then snap his wrist with a twist of his hand. They take less time than Erica and Jackson, but they both appear with faces of satisfaction and Chris actually goes about offering the others coffee and tea while Derek and the Sheriff make their way down to finish this.

It doesn't take as long as he expected. The Sheriff was ready to snap the minute they walked into that room and those bastards decided it would be a good idea to  _talk_ again. One had chuffed out a pained laugh and looked at his counterpart.

"Look Densi, Genéve owners are here to teach us a lesson." He knows it's the use of Stiles' first name that made the Sheriff shake in rage, makes his push forward and aim a punch straight to the mans gut, then one to his chest. Derek watches as the man crumples in on himself, unable to breathe. It's somewhat amazing, the feeling one can gather from just hurting someone who deserves it. Retribution is a beautiful thing, Derek decides. The other man, Densi, is laughing hysterically when Derek turns his attention to him. There's blood streaming from his nose, he knows that this is the man that Jackson methodically broke into pieces. He ignores the Sheriff as he continues to prevent the other from breathing, from moving, from living. Derek moves towards the other until they're almost nose to nose.

"You're a monster." Derek whispers, cold and calculated, rage simmering underneath this final layer of control. A hysterical laugh bursts out once again from the man, and it shreds it away. Derek can feel his eyes glowing, flashing dangerously, can feel the way his teeth and nails elongate. He's also aware that the Sheriff has just pulled his gun, and is aiming it straight between the eyes of the man who's finally realised that he's not getting out of this alive.

"You're a police officer, a sheriff!" The man exclaims through the blood pouring from his nose into his mouth.

"She's my daughter, you bastard." He doesn't give him time to reply, and just as Derek reaches forward, presses his hand firmly against the already cracked ribs of the man before him and adding pressure until they fragment and pierce his lungs. The gun shot rings out, eerily loud, echoing and bouncing around the room, adding to the sickening sound of the other man slowly drowning in his own blood.

There is silence after that, once the man stops trying to fight past the air and blood bubbling inside of him and just lets it go. Finally dies. The Sheriff takes a moment, holsters his gun and then walks to Derek's side. This time, Derek is the one on the receiving end of a shoulder squeeze.

"Lets go now. It's done. They'll never hurt her again." Derek reaches up to press his hand against the mans who just committed murder with him before they both turn and leave the room.

* * *

 

Chris offers to do cleanup, which really, everyone is grateful for. Derek takes the pack home, dropping the Sheriff off at his own home first because he can see in the minute slumping of the mans shoulders, the way he keeps taking deep, uncertain breaths that he's going to lose his control over everything soon.

"The door is open at the house whenever, come when you're ready." Is all Derek says once the man climbs out of his car, and he's shot a thankful look before he disappears into the house and Derek speeds away before the sound of breaking glass and screaming can reach the somewhat less sensitive ears of his betas.

They're all tired and anxious once they get home, climbing out of the car and into the house. The day is catching up with them, the reality of everything that had happened, and it's only a little after four in the afternoon.

God, it feels like just a moment ago and at the same time a year ago that they found Stiles at the back of that store. Boyd, Erica and Jackson head to the den, slumping into a small pack huddle with Lydia who was napping on the sofa. Derek heads upstairs. He can hear the soft whining of Isaac and Danny trying to comfort him. They're sat against the door to his room, the one Stiles is behind, and Isaac is curled into Danny's side with tears in his eyes. Derek slides down the wall on the other side to him and Isaac switches, burying his head into Derek's chest whilst keeping hold of one of Danny's hands.

"It's alright now, Isaac, it's over." Derek whispers, running his fingers through the boys unruly curls and looking over his shoulder to Danny.

"Any sign of Allison and Scott yet?" Derek asks, but then tilts his head and listens because he can hear a car coming up the drive through the trees. It sounds like Allison's, and he lets out a growl that makes Isaac flinch against him.

"Sorry, Sorry." Derek mutters, leaning down until his cheek is pressed against the top of Isaac's head, and he keeps hold of Isaac until the whimpering has stopped. It's about that time that Scott and Allison -he can hear them laughing and it's making him sick- come up towards the front steps. Derek passes Isaac back to Danny, but they both shake their heads and stand with him, making their way down behind him so that they can confront this issue as a pack.

Scott is just about to reach for the door when Derek pulls it open. The pack is stood behind him, all looking to be in various stages of exhaustion and anger. Derek's eyes are flashing red as he tried to control his rage. Stiles is supposed to be Scott's best friend, ever since they were like four years old. Where was he today when Stiles needed him?

"Where the hell have you been?" Derek demands, arms across his chest, glowering at the pair.

"Dude, calm down." Scott scoffs, pulling Allison into his side. "Allison was upset that Gerard would let something like that happen to Stiles, we went for a picnic to cheer her up. I'm totally not due on Stiles duty for like 3 hours yet or something." Scott says with a smile, and the wolves growl. Lydia looks to be on the verge of both crying and screaming at them.

"Stiles is here. With us." Derek grinds out, jaw locked tight.

"Oh, that's cool then! Can we come in a see her, it's been like forever?" Scott is smiling, fucking smiling. Allison is watching them like she knows this is not the time for that, that they're in trouble.

"I sent out a pack call this morning, Scott. Stiles was assaulted, we found her with them-" Derek bites off into a growl. "We were too late, they'd already hurt her. Maybe if you'd been with us, we could have gotten to her sooner, not lost sight of her." Allison has moved away from Scott, hand over her mouth and blinking away tears, but Derek isn't concerned about her right now. Scott is looking at him, part confused and part indignant.

"I wasn't due to be with you until 7! I wasn't there because you didn't tell me to be." Derek leaps forward, throwing Scott to the floor beneath him, wrapping a hand around his throat and squeezing slightly.

"Danny, Isaac, Jackson, Lydia Chris and I weren't meant to be there at the time either, it was Erica and Boyd's watch, but we were." He growls out, applying more pressure as Scott's eyes got wider. "Stiles is supposed to be your best friend, and maybe if you'd been there today, she wouldn't have been assaulted, she wouldn't have been  _raped."_ Derek swallowed over that word, leaving a bad taste in his mouth that makes him want to kill those men all over again. "Maybe her father wouldn't have had to kill a man today. But you weren't, and all of those things happened. So congratulations, Scott. Putting your girlfriend first. Again. Put Stiles in danger. Again." Derek loosens his grip and stands, moving back into the warm semi-circle of gathered pack behind him. Scott stands slowly.

"I didn't- I'm sorry. I just- Allison needed me." Scott whispers, looking between Allison and Derek.

"Stiles needed you more!" Lydia screeched from behind him, she's got tears in her eyes but Jackson is having to restrain her as she tries to make her way to Scott.

"Can I see her?" Scott asks, voice dipping into quiet submission as he blinks away tears. Derek isn't going to fall for this, the submissive act again. It's come back to bite them on the ass too many times before.

"No." He replies coldly, and Scott's eyes shoot up to meet his. Confusion and anger warring in his expression.

"No. You're not welcome here anymore." Derek finishes, and he moves back. The pack moves with him, out of the way, as he slams the door in Scott's outraged face.

He was done with people who hurt Stiles. Whether they were pack or not.


	7. Flashback

The sound of a door slamming and agitated voices are what wakes Stiles up. The sleep had been fitful, light, peppered with [images](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/7/Flinching) from the day and from every day before that for the past 7 months. Images of pack and their pain, their disappointment with her abandoning them. Images of her fathers pained face when he'd seen her today, and the same expression painted there every time he woke her from a nightmare or gently pried the bottle of Adderall from her hands. Flashes of those men pressed against her with their bodies and their hands, mouths opening and teeth digging in. Guns pressed to her spine and knives to her ribs.

She sighs deeply, but that flares pain in her side and causes a mighty headache to make itself known. The moan that escapes her through the pain is hardly muffled by the pillow she bites down on. Tears gather in the corner of her eyes and she can't think. Can't breathe. Can't move. It's like she's trapped under the weight of something she can't see and that's terrifying. It's been like this ever since it started. The pain would appear as soon as she snapped back into the present and then the panic attack would happen. For a while now she'd been dealing with it on her own, her dad having given up on trying to get her to work through it and talk to him. Stiles can feel herself gasping and shaking, can't suppress the [wheezing](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/7/Flinching), wailing noises she knows she's making.

It's too late when she remembers she is in a house full of werewolves.

Derek comes barrelling into the room- Stiles vaguely wonders if this is his room - and searches almost desperately for any kind of danger within these four walls. Finding none, he approaches Stiles slowly, gently. The rest of the pack are gathered in the doorway, watching intently for any sign that he needs help and Stiles still can't fucking  _breathe_.

"Stiles?" His questioning voice sounds tinny, like it's coming through a TV with 50 year old speakers. She can't reply, can't even open her eyes. All Stiles can do right now is curl up into herself as much as she can and hope that the pain of that [action](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/7/Flinching) will snap her out of it soon enough.

"Stiles?" His voice breaks through again and she can feel the tentative outstretch of his hand, wanting to soothe her but not wanting to startle her with his touch at the same time.

Stiles startles herself when she uncurls, gasps painfully and then throws her trembling, injured body into his and clings for all she's worth.

The only time she's felt safe in months was the times today when she was touching Derek. When Derek had his arms around her, strong and supportive instead of the painful embraces she's come to know. It had happened all of four times today, being held by Derek, and those where the only times she felt like she could really breathe, really see, really feel for the first time in forever. There is clarity in Derek's arms. There is safety. There is nothing that can hurt her here.

Derek's arms wrap around her, not to tight but enough to know that he's not letting her go. Stiles gasps into his chest, fighting for air, as her fingers clench and unclench in the material of his shirt gathered at his sides. His hand, wide and strong almost covering half of her back with just one, rubs gently in time with his won intake and exhale of breath.

"Breathe with me Stiles. Match your heartbeat to mine. Shh, come on now. It's okay, you're okay." And surprisingly, that works. With her ear and cheek pressed to Derek's chest she can feel his heart rate and the movement of each breath he takes and after a while that's enough. She matches herself to that and finally - it feels like it's been an eternity - she can breathe normally again.

By the time Stiles opens her eyes again the pack is gone and the door is closed. Derek's arms are still around her.

"Stiles… what can I do to help you?" Derek asks, quietly. Uncertainty creeping into his voice. She contemplates it for a moment before she replies.

"This is safe." Is all she says. Exhaustion is overcoming her again and it's all she can do to keep her eyes open. Derek's head, cheek pressed against her hair, nods above her.

"You're safe here with us." Stiles shakes her head and sighs lightly, trying not to create more pain in her side.

"No. You're safe. Like this. I'm only safe like this." Stiles had always been a tactile person, and good with words, but right now she can hardly string together a coherent sentence.

"You're always safe with me." Derek whispers almost under his breath in reply, holding her tightly, gently, against him with his soothing hand still rubbing soft circles into her spine. Stiles just nods against his chest, fingers that had tightened around his shirt loosen and Derek helps her shift back onto the bed until she's buried under blankets and her head is nestled in pillows instead of his chest. Her breathing is even and slow now as she settles back into the residual warmth in the bed and Derek goes to move away from her. The panic returns slightly and her eyes shoot opened just as she reaches out a trembling hand and grasps his wrist with a strength that surprises even herself right now.

"Stay?" She pleads, fighting against the exhaustion threatening to take her again. Waiting it out until Derek gives a soft exhale and a nod, climbing into the bed beside her, on top of the covers, and then turns to face her. He doesn't reach out to touch her, but Stiles still has a firm grip on his wrist, her fingers over the pulse point below his thumb.

Even in her sleep, she uses his heart to measure her own.

* * *

 

Stiles was in pain, even in her sleep. Derek could smell it, he could feel it in the way her fingers twitched against his wrist, could hear it in the acceleration of her heartbeat. She was buried under blankets that made her look like a child, thin and vulnerable. Juxtaposition beside developing bruises, cuts that will scar, lines of pain around her eyes that Derek is pretty sure she'll never lose now. He wanted to pull her close and take her away to somewhere he can keep her safe.

Safe.

Stiles only felt safe with him. She'd said it herself, in her delusional half sleep-half pain mumblings. It made something inside of Derek strengthen and weaken at the same time. Stiles was safe with him, would always be safe with him, from now on. But he had failed to keep her safe before this, had failed her in the worst way and he was unsure as to whether Stiles would ever recover from this. The violation of her very being.

He wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for letting this happen, but if Stiles needed him beside her every second from now on just to measure the beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest then he would be there. Starting right now, as Stiles slept beside him with a firm grip on his wrist. Derek realised that he was counting her heartbeats and the countenance of her own breathing because it was rhythmic, matching his own, pulling him down to join her in sleep which they both needed.

* * *

 

When he awoke, it was to something firm and tense under one half of his body and the sound of weak whimpering.

"M'sorry. Whatever I did. Sorry, sorry. Please don't. I'm sorry." Derek's eyes shot open as Stiles' voice broke through into his sleepy comfort. The tense thing beneath him was the frozen form of Stiles' body, turned over onto her stomach. He had an arm and a leg thrown over her, half of his chest resting on half of her back and she was pinned beneath him. Pinned and whimpering, he could smell her tears and her fear. He pushed away, throwing himself half way across the room and watching, frozen, as Stiles melted into the mattress and sobbed. Slowly, arm outstretched even if Stiles couldn't see him, Derek approached her.

"Stiles?" He whispered quietly, leaning over the bed, hovering his hand over her ankle debating whether to offer the touch or not. Whether it would be rejected or accepted. He got his answer when she whimpered.

"Please, stop. I'll so whatever you want, just don't hurt them." And oh, god. Derek understood what was happening now. He should have expected it sooner, really. He'd seen this before. Laura had experienced flashbacks of the fire every time someone flicked a lighter in front of her for six months after they left Beacon Hills. Now, after Derek had probably rolled onto her in his sleep and held her down with his body, Stiles had been thrown back into the experience those men had put her through. Forced to relive it in her mind over and over unless he could get someone to pull her out of it.

Derek knew it couldn't be him, couldn't be a male voice. He moved to the door, Jackson and Lydia had the bedroom beside his these days and he could hear she wasn't asleep. Could hear her scribbling away at their desk while Jackson read to her. He rushed along the hallway, throwing open their door in a blatant disrespect for the privacy he usually allows them.

"Lydia. Stiles needs you right now. She's having a flashback." Derek didn't wait for a response, just turned and went back to the doorway to his own room, hovering and watching as Stiles cried and writhed in pain on his bed. Lydia pushed past him a second later, Jackson coming to stand beside him to watch with rapt horror at the scene in front of him.

"Stiles, sweetheart. It's me. It's Lydia." Derek watched as Lydia sat down and scooted up the bed towards the headboard. Lydia kept her hands to herself, but was close enough if Stiles wanted to reach out and grab onto her.

"Come on now, Genève. Come on. It's Lydia and the men that hurt you are gone. No need to be scared, sweetie. It's over now. It's over. You're safe." Derek watched as Lydia slowly coaxed Stiles away from the nightmare inside of her head, finally able to reach out once Stiles was calm enough and pull her to her in a hug. Rocking back and forth as Lydia whispered barely audible things into Stiles' ear. Eventually, Stiles breathing began to calm again, the tears dried in lines along her pale face and she turned wide hazel eyes up to Lydia's face.

"I need to.. I need to get clean Lydia. Please. God, please. I need to get them off me." Lydia stroked Stiles thin face gently.

"Of course. Lets get you into a shower, yeah?" Stiles nodded against Lydia's collarbone as Lydia turned her head to look at Derek. She jutted her chin out towards his en suit and mouthed  _'can we use yours?'_ over the top of Stiles' head. Derek nodded once, glancing over both of the girls before Jackson wrapped a hand around his arm and pulled him gently away from the door and downstairs to get coffee while Lydia helped Stiles clean up.

"What happened in there?" Jackson asked quietly as he thrust a mug into Derek's hands. Derek sighed, taking a sip of the bitter black caffeine that Jackson had given him.

"I fell asleep next to her. Must have rolled over and pinned her. It sparked a flashback." He replied, glancing at the ceiling above them like he could see what was happening upstairs through the plaster and floorboards. Jackson looked at him with something between regret and anger, but it wasn't directed at him.

"We should have protected her from this." Jackson muttered, taking a drink of his own coffee before slamming it down onto the breakfast bar a little too hard. "How the hell did this get past us for almost seven months?" He demanded.

"I'm not sure. We were occupied, but we dropped the ball. We should have been more vigilant." Once upon a time, Derek would have clammed up and refused to have replied to Jackson's venting. Would have taken it as an insult to himself, when really Jackson was doubting and hating them all in equal measures, including himself. There was silence, the sound of muffled whimpers and the shower running, soothing tones of voice floating down the stairs but no identifiable words. There was the sound of scrubbing, and Lydia's shrill  _'Stiles, stop it! You're hurting yourself. You're clean.'_ It had both Derek and Jackson listening intently incase they were needed, but soon after there was a faint sound of a tired sigh and the shower turning off.

"How do we make this better?" Jackson was focused on his cup intently, not looking up at Derek as he shrugged.

"Be there for her, I guess. Let her know she's safe. Take it at her speed." Jackson's shoulders slumped even further, acknowledging that there was nothing immediate they could do was never easy for him.

"Where are the others?" Derek asks as they both listened to the sounds of Lydia redressing Stiles and helping her back into bed.

"Erica and Boyd went for a run. Danny and Isaac went to see Stiles' dad. He rang for an update while you were asleep. I think he wants Stiles to stay here for now. Said he'd explain to them once they got there." Derek nods and drains the last of his coffee just as Lydia's voice floats down to them.

"Derek, Stiles needs you." Derek almost smiles at the fact that Lydia didn't ask for him to come upstairs, just made it a statement and expected it to be followed. He and Jackson both made their way up, meeting Lydia in the doorway to Derek's bedroom. A quick glance in showed Stiles drowning in one of Derek's long sleeved black shirts and a pair of his sweats rolled up to her ankles. It was adorable, in a painful kind of way. Lydia fell into Jackson's arms with the tracks of old tears staining the edges of her eyes red, and looked up at Derek from her position cushioned against her boyfriends chest.

"Go on, then." Lydia nodded towards Stiles who was perched on the edge of his bed, hands in her lap where here eyes were intently focused. Refusing to look up at them.

"Derek?" Her voice, so tiny and quiet that he could almost deny it being Stiles, called to him from across the room and he turned back to look at her again as she glanced up at him through her damp bangs. Lydia and Jackson had already made their way back to their room by the time Derek glanced behind him. He hovered in the doorway, unsure as to whether she wanted him back in there or not.

"Stiles?" He questioned cautiously. She looked fragile and small, on the edge of disappearing before his eyes.

"I'm sorry." It was barely a whisper as she looked up at him. Derek took a step inside the room and closed the door behind him lightly.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Stiles." She shook her head, tears building in her eyes.

"I don't know why that happened. I've been trapped under any number of pack at puppy pile time. I'm sorry." Derek took light steps towards he slowly until he knelt down in front of her, not touching but close enough for her to reach out to if she wanted to.

"You've had a - traumatic seven months Stiles. It's okay. You don't have to be sorry.." He took a breath. "If anything, I'm sorry. The pack is sorry." He muttered quietly. Stiles looked up at him sharply.

"Why would you say that?" She demanded, although her voice was still hoarse, quiet and weak.

"You went through all of that and we just- I just.. I'm sorry we didn't realise earlier. You got hurt because of us." When Derek looked back up at her, there was more fire in her eyes than he thinks he's seen in a long time.

"You're not allowed to be sorry. I did it to protect you. All of you. I did it to keep you safe. It what pack  _does_." She stressed, reaching out and once again grabbing his wrist tightly, fingers folding over his pulse as she worked to calm her erratic heartbeat. Derek let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and tugged gently on that wrist until Stiles slid forward to her knee's and into his arms. He wasn't sure what had gotten into him. Sure, during pack sleepovers he joined in on the 'puppy piles', and there was always familiar touch between him and his wolves, but he'd never been this tactile with Stiles before. Never given out hugs and reassurance to anyone but Laura like this before now. It felt right though. It felt good to be able to give Stiles this. To provide this safety. His hand reached up to stroke her hair as the other was held in her tight hand by his wrist.

"I know you did." Derek whispers into her hair. "I know, thank you. Thank you." He presses a kiss into the damp strands against her scalp as her breathing once again evens out. The poor girl is exhausted, not that he can blame her. Scooping her up, he settles them back into the general places they were before he fell asleep last time. Inches apart but close enough to feel shared warmth. One hand wrapped around a wrist, Stiles curled up into herself as much as possible without causing too much pain. Comfort. Pack. Safety.

He wouldn't fall asleep this time.


	8. Distant

When Stiles awoke the next day, after a night of tossing and turning and screaming her way through nightmares, something was different. Once she was lucid, and obviously still in pain, she pulled her hand away from Derek's wrist and turned to look out of the window beside his bed. When Derek tried to talk to her, he got very little acknowledgement. Offers of food and drinks were ignored, even Lydia's demanding went unrecognised. By the time half the morning had passed, Derek had taken to sitting in the den with Lydia, Jackson, Erica and Boyd just waiting for Stiles to make a move. Isaac and Danny were on their way back from the Sheriffs after staying the night keeping him company, and he was just [hopeful](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/8/Flinching) that Stiles would at least show some reaction to Isaac and his unbelievably effective puppy dog eye technique.

None of them had said anything, just came away from Derek's bedroom with troubled expressions on their faces, but they could all feel the worry radiating from the others. Even Derek himself, used to being silent and broody even if he doesn't admit it to anyone but his own conscious, was finding it hard to keep a lid on the bubbling pot that was anxiety growing inside of him. Stiles had never, not once since he'd known her, been completely silent for this long. As far as he could tell, she hadn't even shifted [position](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/8/Flinching) in bed since she'd moved away from him earlier that morning. The most he'd seen was a flit of eyes and a slight turn in head when Lydia had sighed and raised her voice slightly. Derek almost chuckled at the memory of Lydia hovering over the bed, hands on her hips with an incredulous look on her face.  _'Stiles, so help me God, if you do not start talking or at least looking at me right now I will commandeer you into girly sleep over's for the next ten years of your life.'_ It was an idle threat he'd heard before, although never in the context of actually wanting Stiles to speak more. That had made the girl currently silent and frozen in his bed, scrunch her face up and widen her eyes, before giving into anything Lydia wanted from her. This time, Stiles had just turned her head slightly and glanced at Lydia before going back to staring out of the window.

Even more worrisome than the not moving, talking, eating or drinking was the scent of overwhelming pain and fear that permeated the air around Stiles. It had dissipated a little yesterday after they had gotten her somewhat cleaned up, but it was back now. And not just physical pain, but there was emotional pain mixed in there too. Derek didn't know how the two could have different scents, but it was like one caused his skin to itch and the other his stomach to turn into knots. He had hardly wanted to leave her alone, in fear she act irrationally and do something drastic before he had time to get to her. But Lydia and Erica had convinced him that Stiles was more sensible than that even in this state, and so they'd left Stiles to herself.

They'd been sat in silence for almost half an hour, everyone listening intently for any movement upstairs, when Isaac and Danny returned home. Both looked tired and haggard, dark circles beneath their eyes and smelling like worry.

"How is she?" Isaac inquired as soon as he was close enough to ask quietly. Derek sighed and tilted his head back, squeezing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the stress headache he was forming.

"She hasn't said anything or moved at all since she woke up this morning." Jackson informed them, burying his nose into Lydia's hair as she cuddled in closer to him. Isaac shot panicked looks between all of them before glancing at the direction of the bedroom above them.

"And you left her alone?" He hissed, pushing back to his feet just seconds after sitting down.

"Stiles is fine, we'd be able to hear if anything was happening." Erica looked up at Isaac like he'd gone insane for not realising that. He shot her back an equally frustrated glance before turning to look at Derek.

"Have you all forgotten that she had training with Deaton? Stiles had been learning to cover her sounds and scent for months, how do you think she hid from us in the woods during those training hunts?!" Isaac demanded, shocking almost everyone. Isaac was often considered soft spoken and damaged, but apparently Stiles' safety had him discovering parts of himself hidden from others. No one had a chance to reply though, as Isaac was out of the room and sprinting up the stairs before any of them could formulate a response. Isaac was at Derek's bedroom door, knocking, by the time the others had followed him up.

"Stiles, it's Isaac. Can I come in?" He asked between knocks, but Derek nudged him away once there was no response and just opened the door. A glance around the room showed that Stiles was no longer in bed, and they could all now clearly hear the sound of the shower running. Underneath the patter of heavy water, was the sounds of harsh scrubbing and the faint scent of blood and tears. He rushed forward, throwing open the door to his bathroom. The sound of sobbing was clear in hear under the deceptive sounds of the shower and Derek reached out to pull the shower curtain aside.

Derek froze, along with everybody else, at the sight of Stiles scratching and scrubbing at her body. Her skin was red, bleeding through some of the more viciously attended area's. She was weeping and gasping for air, and the scent of pain and fear and undertones of disgust rolled off her in waves that made Derek want to both pull her close to him and recoil like he'd been slapped.

Stiles was still scrubbing at herself like she hadn't even realised they were there, and Derek was kind of really glad Stiles seems to have just ripped off the clothes she'd borrowed from him and thrown herself into the shower in her underwear. He snapped himself out of his stupor and, regardless of his clothes, stepped into the shower. He reached out slowly, calling Stiles' name and gently grasped each fast moving hand before they could do any more damage to her already sore skin.

"Stiles. Stop." He commanded gently, pulling her hands closer to himself and away from her to prevent more damage. She looked up at him, eyes wild and pained.

"Can't get them off me. Gotta get them off me. Please Derek. Gotta get them off." She whimpered, curling up on herself.

"You're hurt, Stiles. You're clean, but we need to see how much damage you've done to your skin okay? Can we get out of the shower." Stiles kind of slumped forward into him, forcing him to take her weight with one arm supporting her as he reached behind her to turn the water off.

"Can feel them all over me. Can't get them off Derek. Please. Make them get off me." She whispered over and over into his collarbone. He turned his head and nodded at the towel that hung from the bar on the wall. Lydia and Erica turned and pushed the other boys out of the room before turning back and handing the towel to Derek. Gently, trying not to put too much pressure on Stiles' abused skin, Derek wrapped it around her. Slowly, he bent and slid an arm under her legs, lifting her into the same carry he had given her as they escaped the scene behind the pharmacy yesterday. Stiles shook in his arms, silent now apart from the pained wheezing of her breath and Derek wished he could do something about that cracked rib and the bruises littering her body. As carefully as he could, he sat her down on the edge of his bed, Lydia and Erica taking a seat on either side of her with a smaller towel each. As lightly as they could, they patted the tender, bleeding skin as dry a possible. The white cotton came away stained red and Stiles' skin looked impossibly vicious in its colour. She was shivering and crying silently and he stood, leaving the girls now to help Stiles deal with dressing any of the more damaged area's of skin and changing into some new borrowed clothes of his. The other men in their pack had taken to standing outside of his now closed bedroom door. Jackson was pacing, Boyd leaning against the wall, Isaac and Danny were curled up on the floor, Danny stroking Isaac's hair as he whimpered quietly. Derek sighed and slid down to the floor on the other side of Isaac. The younger wolf curled into him, burying his head into Derek's damp collarbone and it was then that he realised his clothes were still soaked from standing in the shower with Stiles.

"She's going to be okay, Isaac." Derek whispered into the boys ear, and Isaac shook next to him.

"What would have happened if we hadn't gotten here and no one remembered the training she had?" Isaac whimpered.

"I don't know." Derek sighed. "But it's good that you remembered, you helped her. That's good Isaac, and once she's clean and dry and got clothes on I'm sure she'll want to see you, okay?" Isaac nodded into Derek's neck as they settled in to wait for Lydia and Erica to emerge from his bedroom.

* * *

 

When Stiles had woken up this morning, she'd felt like everything around her was distant and faded. It felt like she was right back there, hiding what was happening from the pack and hoping they wouldn't realise. It was like everyone was on her periphery and she could hardly hear them, could hardly see them. The only things she felt as she looked at the unfamiliar view from the unfamiliar bed she was in was pain and fear, terror that they would come back for her here and finish what they did not achieve yesterday. It felt like their hands were still on her, their teeth still embedding themselves into her neck, their knives and the cold metal of their guns were still pressing into her ribs and her spine. It felt like they were still  _everywhere._ Like they were still  _violating_ her.

Once all the people on her peripheral disappeared, Stiles knew that she had to get clean. Even if those monsters were going to come back for her, she had to get clean right now. Because she knew she was around the pack and that they would smell them on her. Knew that she would infect them with her touch and presence if she didn't get those monsters off her skin. The door had closed behind the last person to leave the room, and Stiles had climbed out of the bed she was in and stumbled towards the door. Putting all her intent behind it, she dragged her fingernails against the wood of the door and the flooring until the sigils were faintly apparent, enough to block her sounds and smells from the pack.

She had ambled across to the bathroom, pulling off the soft clothes that smelt vaguely familiar and throwing herself into the shower. She had turned on the hot water, ignoring the cold, and picked up a washcloth from the side of the shower. Harshly she had scrubbed at her skin under unbearably hot water, feeling nails scratch and skin split, until she could hardly feel it anymore. And still she had kept scrubbing. She couldn't get the feel, the smell, of them off her. Couldn't forget the way they had felt against her, tainted her. Stiles had continued to scrub and scrub and scratch until someone - faintly she recognised that it was Derek - grasped her hands and stopped her from doing any more damage to her skin. She could hardly feel the painful embrace of the towel, could only kind of register that it felt like she was begin carried, and then set down again, only for more scratchy, painful towels to be added to this new found method of torture to her skin. Derek had left sometime during the pain of the towels and the blessed cleansing sting of alcohol antiseptic. Somewhere in her subconscious Stiles knew that stinging antiseptic shouldn't be thought of as 'blessed' but it made the feel of their disgusting hands on her fade for a little while. She was becoming clearer with each passing, painful moment and felt herself being tugged into soft clothing and placed gently back into cotton sheets and covered in a warm blanket. Stiles hadn't even realised she'd been shaking until then.

Lydia and Erica had stayed with her a little while until Stiles was lucid enough to realise that someone was whining outside of the door. It sounded familiar and haunting and it was then that she realised everyone had seen that shower scene, including Isaac.

"Let Isaac in, please." Stiles had whispered to them hoarsely and both the other girls looked at each other in a strange sense of relief. Isaac had crawled into the bed beside her as soon as he entered the room, but he didn't reach out to touch her until she gave him a one sided smile. He shifted forwards, curled towards her, and buried himself gently against her neck.

"Shh, 'Zac, it's alright. I'm sorry for scaring you." Stiles whispered into Isaac's soft curls, pressing a gentle kiss to his head. She wanted to move away from him, terrified of spreading her taint to the most innocent person she knew, but Isaac needed this contact.

"No. I'm sorry. We're sorry. We should have protected you. M'sorry Stiles." He had whispered into her skin, she felt the damp of his tears falling into the dip of her collarbone.

"No. Isaac. I did it to protect you all. I did it to protect you. Don't apologise for it when you did nothing wrong." Stiles said it loudly enough so that the rest of her pack, most of which she could hear pacing outside the bedroom door, would hear. Isaac peeked up at her, eyes wide and brimming with tears. She wanted to pull him closer and hold him, but her sensitive skin and other injuries wouldn't allow it, and the fear still infecting her brain told her that having someone so close to her weak and vulnerable body would only result in more pain.

"M'still sorry." He whispered, letting some of his tears fall down his pale cheeks. Stiles reached up her hand and brushed them away with the pad of her thumb.

"I know you are." Was all she replied, and she did, she just didn't know why. It was like none of these wolves understood that she'd do it all again if it would keep them safe from here on out. That she would risk everything except her father to keep them out of harms way. But Stiles was getting tired, could feel it in the slowing of her movements and the strain on her muscles. Isaac must have realised too, because soon she had her head settled into his deceptively muscular chest, his arm gently draped across the relatively unharmed skin of her shoulders as her fingers wrapped around his other wrist.

It wasn't the same familiar thrum of Derek's heartbeat beneath her fingers, but knowing Isaac was safe was enough to let her drift into sleep once again.


	9. Rooftop

Stiles most certainly was not okay. No matter how many times she'd thrown him a weak smile and nodded that she was, that she didn't need anything, that it was all fucking fine. He's pretty sure she's either slipping into denial or hit an all time low on depression, because he can remember Laura telling him days after the fire that yes, she was doing okay, and yes she had all she needed for now and then he'd [come back](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/9/Flinching) to the apartment they'd managed to find with Laura holding a gun to her temple and a smile still on her face.

They had days that were almost repeats of the shower fiasco, when Stiles would shut down. No talking, eating, acknowledgment that anyone else was around. At some point during those days she would get frantic and demand that they stop touching her, stop being contaminated by her, and fight her way towards the shower. Up to now, they'd manage to stave off the panic attack enough to get Derek's arms wrapped around her- or Jackson's - and Derek is still constantly amazed at how gentle he is with the human girl he'd once hated.

Derek had someone watching her each second of the day, which is the reason the Sheriff had asked if she could stay with him. Her father had known he wouldn't be able to provide this kind of care at home, and he still couldn't be sure whether those men had been in their home or not. Stiles might not have felt safe there. He still came around a few times a day, spent time with his daughter in comfortable silence. Once he left for the night, either Isaac or Derek would climb in beside her in Derek's bed and let her wrap her fingers around their wrists, measure their [pulse](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/9/Flinching) against her own, just so that she could get some rest.

It was a bad judgment call, almost two weeks after they'd brought her [home](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/9/Flinching), that could have cost them all. The wolves where all needed for treaty discussions at the Argents. Derek hadn't wanted to leave Stiles without a wolf around who could hear if she got into trouble, but Lydia had scowled and told him she was perfectly capable of looking after a very weak, very tired Stiles for an hour or two. Derek had warned her, told her that the scent of pain, fear and desperation still surrounds Stiles like an aura and that she would have to be there for pretty much every second until they got back. Lydia had rolled her eyes but nodded, and pressed a kiss to Jackson's cheek before hurrying them out of the door. Derek had been plagued by a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach the moment they'd driven away from the house. It had grown when Scott had turned up at the meeting with Allison, although that could have just been annoyance. The feeling hit an all time horribleness when the call from Lydia came through.

"What is it, what's wrong?" He had demanded down the phone, not even excusing himself from the room before answering the call. Everyone was watching him intently.

" _It's Stiles. The door to your room is locked and I think I can hear someone on the roof. God, Derek I only went to get her some juice."_ Lydia's voice was panicked, on the edge of tearful and Derek growled.

"I said don't let her out of your sight for a second, Lydia!" He shouted down the phone, throwing himself off the armchair he was sat in.

" _I know, I know I'm sorry. Just get here quickly."_ He didn't reply, pushed his finger across the screen to end the call and turned to the pack gathered behind him.

"What's happening?" Danny inquired, holding Isaac close to him. Jackson, Erica and Boyd were pressed to the other side of them. Scott and the Argents were glancing between them all in confusion.

"Lydia can't get in the room. And there's noises from the roof." He growled back, turning to Argent.

"Family emergency, another time?" He was already halfway through the door, not even waiting for a reply when he heard Jackson grumble to Scott.

"You stay away, you've caused enough pain." Scott was left stuttering behind them with Allison clinging tearfully to his side as they left their cars and instead ran back to the Hale house.

* * *

The house, as wide and long as it is, is also extremely tall. It stands at three stories, about thirty five feet. Seeing Stiles standing against the ledge of the flat roof over the attic, the full height of the house up, was one of Derek's most heart stopping moments. He growled at the others, pointing to the ground beneath where Stiles was wobbling.

"You all stay here. If she falls, you catch her." The others spread out beneath where Stiles was stood, they could see tears streaming down her face but she was smiling. It was unnerving to say the least. By the time they had situated themselves, Derek had thrown himself into his house and up the stairs. Lydia was pacing outside his bedroom door, chewing on her nails.

"She still isn't answering and I don't know what's on the roof!" She whimpered at him as he pushed her away from the door.

"Stiles. Stiles is on the roof." There is a tiny pained gasp from here, drowned out by the sound of splintering wood as he kicked his door through. The window was open, blowing his curtains into the room with strong gusts of wind. It made his heart beat faster. Stiles was tiny, able to be blown over by a strong breeze on one of her better days. Now, ten pounds lighter and caught in a haze of pain and terror, this wind could blow her from the roof before he got her down. Slowly, he inched out of the window, clinging to the fame, to look up at her precariously perched at the edge.

"Stiles." Derek called out to her gently, pulling her attention towards him. "Stiles, what are you doing on the roof?" She grinned at him manically.

"I'm free up here. They can't get me here Derek. It's safe!" She laughed it out, lost in her thoughts and disillusions.

"That is the least safe place, Stiles. You could fall." Her face sobered as she looked down at him again.

"I don't care." Stiles whispered, hardly reaching him through the wind. "I don't care!" She screamed louder, and Derek heard a whimper from Isaac beneath them.

"Okay, you don't care. But think about the others Stiles. Think about how much it would hurt the pack and your dad. It would hurt them, Stiles. It would hurt me." She blinks wildly down to him, still balancing too close to the edge. He doesn't know what to do, how to approach this. When it was Laura, he could bat the gun out of her hand and hold her in comfort. But he couldn't climb up without risk of spooking Stiles, without nudging her into a fall or a jump. He couldn't pull her down and back into the room from here. She must have balanced on the thin edge of his window sill and then hoisted herself up onto the roof, almost six feet from where Stiles' toes would have been touching. Derek isn't even aware she had that kind of strength or energy left. Getting her back down would be a risky reversal of that process.

"I did it all to save you. All of it, to keep the pack safe. To keep you safe."

"I know you did, Stiles. We know, okay? And none of that will mean anything if you fall from this roof today." He shouts over the ever increasing wind. She sways, and glances down at the anxiously waiting pack members beneath her. Nodding, she turns her attention back to Derek.

"I need to get down from here." Stiles whimpers, tears once again flowing freely down her face. Derek nods, smiling slightly in encouragement to her.

"Alright. We'll do this slowly. I need you to sit down on the edge, real slowly, and scoot forward until your legs are dangling as far as they can go, Okay?" She lets out a deep breath, bending down slowly until she's sat as far forward on the edge as possible and shooting anxious, horrified glances at Derek.

"Just stay calm. Put all your weight back onto your hands and elbows and lower yourself off the edge now. Don't worry about anything. I'll keep you steady once you're close enough." Shaking her head rapidly.

"Can't. I can't. I'll fall."

"No, you won't. It's not far until I can reach you. Come on." He encouraged, reaching his hands out ready to catch her. He watched her as she took a deep breath, scooting further and further off until only her upper body was taking her weight. Derek could see her trembling under the strain, just out of reach for him to grasp properly. Slowly, so slowly, she began to slide down a little, letting her hands slip against the tile so she could get lower.

"D-Derek." She screeched as her hands slipped too quickly, scrambling for purchase. A whine tried to break free of his throat. Stiles slowed on her tumble, and Derek was sure she'd found a grip again, but the wind blew hard. Derek blinked against the wind hitting his face and Stiles screamed as her new found semi-stability was once again lost. The wind practically threw her away from the house, and Derek remained frozen; unable to reach out, unable to catch her.

"Stiles!" He bellowed, getting only her screeching in reply as she tumbled further down. It was like time had slowed, as he watched that fragile human fall towards solid ground. From where he could see, none of his wolves were in a good enough position to catch her without some kind of injury.

"Stiles!" He cried again, as she neared the ground. His vision was blurring in panic, blinking heavily against the wind and gathering tears brought on through the fear. There was a moment of silence as he heard an impact. Unable to look down, he squeezed his eyes closed and clenched his fists.

"I got her. Derek it's alright. I got her!" Jackson shouted up to him. Derek let out a breath, squeezing his eyes tighter for a second.

"Oh, thank God," He breathed out, turning to find Lydia frozen, in tears behind him. He'd have to talk to her later, Derek could hear the sounds of the pack coming inside downstairs and he was sure the knot in his stomach wouldn't go away until he saw for himself that Stiles was uninjured. He brushed past her, rushing two steps at a time until he was slumped next to the sofa Stiles was laid out on, hands hovering over her.

"Are you hurt? Stiles, are you hurt?" Derek demanded, brushing fingertips over already existing bruises and abrasions, wincing along with her when he reached the worst ones over her ribs even if he couldn't see them under the cover of a black shirt.

"N-no." She hiccupped back, blinking at the tears once again filling her eyes. Derek nodded in relief and then turned to the others gathered behind him. They all looked, and felt, a little numb. Thrusting his chin towards the door, a silent ask for some privacy, the pack piled out. Derek waiting until they gathered Lydia and closed themselves into Isaac's room. Once they were settled, he turned his attention back to a softly crying Stiles. As gently as he could, unable to resist touching her now, he tugged her until she was wrapped around him on the ground. Her head buried in the crook of his neck, hand wrapped in its familiar place on his wrist and one over his chest. Derek held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other half way up her thigh, holding her entire body as close as he could without triggering her or causing too much pain. Rocking gently, lips pressed against her hair, Derek whispered to her.

"I almost lost you, again. Stiles. God. I can't- please. I can't lose you too." Stile's breath hitches in her throat as she sobs quietly into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She whispers back to him, so quietly he almost doesn't catch it. Still rocking, they revert back to silence until she is resting sleepily against him in the quiet hum of the house.

"Stiles." He calls gently, lifting a finger under her chin and pulling her face up to meet his gaze. She blinks at him with doe eyes, making his heart break and swell at the same time. Eyes wide open to look for an objections, he leans into until their mouths meet. Another sob in Stiles' breathing and then she's kissing him back. Gently, tentative and soft like she isn't sure how to do this. And maybe she doesn't. Derek is almost sure she'd never really been touched or had touched anyone else before those bastards got their hands on her. They pull away when air becomes a necessity, foreheads pressed together.

"I can't lose you too, okay?" Derek whispers to her, eyes closed now against the sheer thought that he might have never felt Stiles in his arms again. She just nods gently against him and shifts back into her original position cuddled against him.

"M'tired." She sighs hotly against his neck, making him chuckle lightly.

"I think we all are. The others are piling in Isaac's room, you want join them or just go back to my room?" He watches as she considers, but he can feel her panic rising slightly.

"I don't think- I'm not ready- Not for the pack cuddles yet. Can we just, heartbeats and in your room and stuff?" She mumbled weakly, disjointed sentence a testament to her exhaustion. Derek doesn't reply, trying not to pull her from the almost sleep. He stands with her still cradled in his arms, taking her back to the room he had vacated once Jackson had brought her in. Someone - he thinks it will have been Lydia - has shut the windows, which he is grateful for. Trying not to disturb her, he sets her down, shucking off his jacket and shoes which are still on from the dramatic scene on his return home. She whimpers, eyes flickering open, when he's no longer in touching distance and he hurries to climb in beside her. Pulling the covers over her but staying on top of them himself so she isn't uncomfortable or afraid. He expects Stiles to reach out, even in her almost sleep to grab his wrist and measure her breathing and pulse against his, but she surprises him. Cuddling in closer, she gently shifts up against his chest until her ear is against his heart and her arm is draped across his stomach. After a moment of hesitation, he lays on hand against the back of her head, running his fingers through her soft hair lightly. The other went behind his head lifting him slightly as he watched Stiles settle against his body.

This was comfortable. Right. Exactly where she was always supposed to be. It's a feeling he's been repressing since he had the opportunity to figure out what it was, but almost losing her twice in just two weeks was too much. Derek knew he'd have to be gentle, slow, whatever Stiles needed from him, but he wasn't going to ignore his feelings for her anymore. Not when it could mean the difference between her being safe or being dead.

 


	10. Betrayal

The first thing he heard when he woke up from dozing beside Stiles was a quiet [whimpering](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/10/Flinching) as she rolled away from his side. She had fallen asleep with her head on his chest and stayed that way all night. Not that he minded. It was reassuring; the feel of her warm, alive body beside him. The sound of her heart beat and her breathing in time with his as she measured it with an ear against his chest and a hand around his wrist. Last night came way to close for comfort, had he been just a minute later he might have lost her, had Jackson not had some of the best reflexes he's ever seen, human or wolf. Watching her plummet, screaming, towards the ground was one of the single worst things he'd ever experienced and it was by sheer luck that it didn't turn into number one on the 'things that have destroyed Derek Hale' list.

"Stiles? What's wrong?" He whispered sleepily as she pushed herself up onto her elbows slowly, wincing. She turned to look at him with wide eyes brimmed with tears.

"Last night.. Just- Fuck, Derek.. I'm so sorry." Stiles tried to blink away the tears as they welled up and spilt along her pale cheeks, flowing into the hollows beneath her eyes and under her cheekbones; testament to the malnourishment and pain of the past year. Derek sat up slowly, a learnt reaction now that Stiles still flinched away and smelt like terror whenever one of them moved too quickly. He made sure her eyes were still on him as he reached out slowly to balance a hand on her shoulder gently

"It's okay, Stiles. You're hurting, it's understandable. It's okay." He dragged his hand slowly down her back, hoping to offer her comfort of pack even without the wolf component running through her veins. She had never minded before, had been incredibly tactile in the time before the Alpha pack and the hunters. Now though, she whimpered and flinched away from his touch, the scent of pain flooding through her.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" There was a tiny minute nod of her head as she lowered her eyes and bit back another sound of pain. "Can I see, please?" Shaking her head, Stiles pulled away slightly from his touch and tried to scoot into the corner between the bed and the wall where she could hide the injuries from him.

"Come on Stiles, I just want to see if you need any treatment." He whispered back to her, hand lightly around her upper arm. It was disturbing that where there used to be muscles from swimming and sometimes training in Lacrosse with the boys, there was now just bone and sinew. His fingers overlapped as they curled around her. She shot him a look over her shoulder before sighing in defeat. Slowly she lifted the hem of her- it was his shirt but whatever, he liked how she smelt in them- shirt.

"It's just, I think Jackson's arms bruised me when he caught me. And my ribs already hurt, and that cut from the knife.. I think it might have re-opened and I just-" She broke off with a gasp as Derek took over raising the shirt lightly, running his fingers over the bruises being revealed. Her back and side were blue and purple, more so over the lines where Jackson would have caught her and curling around her ribcage and over the knife wound where his hands would have gripped. She twitched as his fingers lightly explored, muscles twitching under his touch.

"It's fine." Stiles announced bravely, trying without success to slide the shirt back down.

"No, just.. Wait a second." Derek splayed his hands as far as he could over the bruises, wondering why he had not done this before even though he had known she was in pain with cracked ribs and months of other abuse. Slowly, black lines of her pain shifted into him. He could feel the almost suffocating pain coming from his ribs, attacking his own nerves before his quick healing banished the feeling. Slowly, he pushed a little more against the black bruises closer to her spine, pulling away the pain whilst also feeling for more substantial injuries. Thankfully, he could neither smell or feel any deeper injuries than the ones she already had, and beneath his soft touches he could feel her breathing a little easier, moving a little more smoothly. It wouldn't last, would just have the effect of a long lasting pain pill, but between he and Isaac they could keep her pain away until she was healed up. The physical pain, anyway. Stiles turned back to look at him as he lowered her shirt with a tiny smile. The first genuine one he'd seen in so, so long.

"Thank you." She whispered in a small voice, holding the shirt down with her fingers, fiddling with the hem. Derek just nodded to her and leaned back against the headboard, waiting for the last of her pain to be taken away from his own body. Her face blushed as her stomach rumbled, it was the first sign of any kind of hunger since they'd brought her home.

"Derek.. Do you think maybe we could- could we maybe.. I don't know. Can we go down? For breakfast, I mean?" A small, pleased chuckled emerged from somewhere within him. Anything Stiles had managed to eat, often encouraged to do so, had been done in his bedroom. She had not left this room unless to use his en suit until last night. He hoped it was a slight sign of recovery that she was willingly going to leave the room in order to eat.

"Sure." He could feel the nervousness rolling off her as she stood to follow him, her hand now moving to grip his forearm, clinging to him as they made their way out of the door. She swallowed loudly, shivering against him in the long sleeved shirt and rolled up sweat pants. He worried faintly as they came to the flights of stairs that she wouldn't be strong enough to walk down on her own accord, she was still as weak as newborn and clinging to him just walking down a straight corridor.

"Do you want me too.. Y'know?" He gestured towards the two flights of stairs, watching her closely as she swayed. Light headed, probably from lack of sustenance and last nights dramatics. Stiles shook her head no, but clung to him tighter. Derek shifted so she was attached to the arm away from her, half holding her across his body with one arm hovering behind her without touching. Ready to catch her if she fell. A nod came from Stiles beside him and they took the steps slowly together. He couldn't hear the pack downstairs, and there was a multitude of heartbeats coming from the bedroom they had disappeared into last night. Derek assumed everyone was in there, not taking the time to find and count individuals. Even if they all weren't, he was assuming everyone was safe and knew that now was not the time to overwhelm Stiles with their concerns. It was times like these he was glad they had managed to gel into an actual family-like pack before things got massively messed up.

It took longer than he thought it would, with three near misses where Stiles had lost her footing or gotten too light headed, but they eventually made it downstairs and into the kitchen. He settled her into one of the cushioned seats around their big table.

"What do you want to eat? We got all the things for omelettes, or cooked breakfast, or oatmeal?" He wanted to kick himself for the hopeful lilt to his voice, but Stiles hadn't eaten more than half a cold cut sandwich since they'd brought her back and it was worrisome.

"Do we- Can I have some toast? Dry?" Derek's eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded.

"You want anything else, coffee or something?"

"Coffee might be nice." She whispered in reply, biting at her bottom lip in a familiar show of anxiousness. He wanted to pry it away with his thumb, soothe the red skin with a soft kiss, but she hadn't brought up what had happened between them before they had gone to bed last night and he wasn't about to make things any more awkward than they were right now.

"Do you have my Adderall?" Stiles was looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes, still nibbling on her lip harshly. He turned to her from pouring the coffee, confusion showing the lines on his forehead.

"I don't have it, your dad didn't bring it. It doesn't seem like you need it though?"

"I probably don't- I just.. All the thoughts and the images are so fast and I just want to be able to concentrate on the.. The good things instead of the bad thoughts that just wont go away." Derek moved around the kitchen, getting milk and sugar, checking on Stiles' toast before he turned back to her.

Why didn't you say anything?" He asked, sitting opposite to her and pushing the mug of bitter, black coffee towards her along with two slices of dry toast. Stiles wrapped her fingers around the mug, staring into the liquid as if it held all the answers in the universe.

"The past few days have been hard." She chuckled harshly, lifting her hands to drag down her face. "Fuck, Derek. These past few years have been hard, I just didn't think Adderall was important. But last night, I just couldn't get the images and words to go away and I ended up on a roof. Derek, I could have died and I didn't care because  _it wouldn't go away_." Silently, Derek moved out of his chair, coming around the table to crouch beside hers. She was tearing her toast into little pieces and refusing to look at him, blinking heavily at the tears gathering under her lashes. Gently, he pulled on the chair until the entire thing, Stiles and all, were turned towards him. He lifted her head with a fingers under his chin until her eyes met his. She was shaking, trembling harshly against him as she battled the emotions trying to break through her defences.

"Stiles. I want you to listen to me, okay?" He lifted his hands, encasing her face between his hands, gently petting the hair at her temples with his fingers. "I know. I know it's been hard, and I know you took so much of the pain and the suffering to keep us safe. The pack appreciates you for that, loves you for it. And now, it's our turn to keep you safe, alright? Our turn to make sure you're safe and happy and cared for. We will never let you get hurt again.  _I_  will never let you get hurt again." Stiles is wide eyed, tears no longer spilling across her cheeks but still gathering heavily in her eyes. Her mouth is parted slightly.

"Do you understand, Stiles? I'm never going to let you get hurt again. Never." It takes a while, Derek's eyes roaming over her face, before she nods lightly. His hands are still encasing her face, holding her shaking body steady as he spoke to her, and she turns her head slowly into his palm. Her eyes are closed as she presses a kiss to his palm.

"Stiles-" He starts to pull away, afraid that he will misinterpret her thanks for something else. Her hands shoot up, faster than he's seen her move in such a long time.

"No. I remember- I remember the kiss last night. I want this- Okay. I w-want you. I just need some time. We need some time." Derek stares at her, listening for any leaps in her heart beat, but this is the first time in days that her pulse is steady in his ears. She's still trembling beneath his fingertips, but not as harshly. It takes some time, and it's not in words that he replies. Instead, leaning forward, he presses a chaste, gentle kiss against her warm mouth. It elicits a small sound of surprise from her as he pulls away and goes back to his side of the table, taking sips of his coffee whilst Stiles pulls herself back together. Eventually, she turns around, goes back to focusing on her food. He watches her closely as she nibbles on torn up pieces of toast with a small smile, happy to see her at least putting something into her empty stomach. Derek is glad that for once, he can see that this is going to be a good day.

That is, until Stiles takes a sip of her coffee and immediately turns an ashen colour. She shoots up from the table and stumbles to the kitchen sink, hand clamped over her mouth until she reaches the basin and retches heavily. Derek is right behind her, hand on her forehead to keep her from slipping forward and hitting it off the faucet, the other wrapped around her gently, holding her upright. There is very little in her stomach, and Stiles spends fives minutes painfully dry retching whilst Derek whispers soothing words into her ear and tries to hold her as steady as possible as she shakes in his grasp. The pack have moved out of the bedroom, he can feel them gathered in the kitchen doorway behind them but pays them no heed. It takes another minute or two before Stiles is steady enough to hold her own head up, and Derek helps her run water into her mouth and clean up a little before turning her and holding her gently to his side.

"You okay?" He mutters into her hair, getting a nod in return.

"I feel better now, just tired. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He can hear her voice wavering, fear beginning to permeate the air around her and once again Derek curses the men for doing these things to her, causing her to become terrified of someone's reaction to every little thing she does.

"Nothing to be sorry about, maybe we shouldn't have done coffee so soon huh?" Stiles sniffles into his chest and tries to control her fear, pushing it down and under and Derek can feel the tense lines of her body as she tries to fight against the conditioned response.

"Okay." Stiles eventually sighs against him, and he can feel the slight relaxation in her muscles. "Okay. Can we just watch TV down here or something now? Please." Derek nods at the others who make their way quietly out of the house, trying not to alert Stiles to the fact that they had seen it all, before he helps her through into the sitting room. Someone during the morning before they got out of bed had come down to start the fire in the fireplace, something Derek had once hated but now secretly loved. It was a decision for the house that Stiles had made, something about conquering fears. He let her flop onto the sofa, pulling the afghan over her slight, shivering body for more warmth and then took the armchair beside her. Admittedly, the ashen tone to her face had gone, but Derek was still worried. If Stiles was going to spend the whole day here watching Gossip Girl on Netflix, then so was he.

* * *

 

Stiles is halfway through a quiet rant about why Chuck and Blaire is a better 'ship' than Blaire and Nate, using more words than she has in a really long time, when someone knocks on the door. He watches as she tenses up visibly, shoots panicked looks between the hallway leading to the door and Derek, eyes wide and terrified. Hoping to soothe her fear, he takes in a deep breath to try and figure out who it was and had to suppress a growl. It's Scott. No Allison this time, but the fact that he is here after a pack dismissal is an insult. He's close to shifting and throwing Scott half way back to the Argent house when Stiles' weak grip on his arm pulls him back to her.

"Who is it?" She mouths to him, terror palpable in the air. She smells like fear and prey, it doesn't help with trying to quell the wolf, but the expression on her face makes him remember that he needs to keep calm for her.

"Scott." Derek manages to growl, earning a little whimper from her before he apologises and takes deep breathes. Another knock comes, this time louder, more forceful and even knowing who it is, Stiles still flinches heavily.

"I'm gonna let him in okay, because you deserve to hear about why he hasn't been here for you from his own mouth." He knows that Stiles had hardly realised who had been with her over the past few days beside Derek and Isaac, the two wolves she measured her vitals against as she slept. But knowing that Scott hadn't been here at all set an uncomfortable knot that felt a lot like betrayal in his stomach. Makes him want to take Stiles away from the pain that this one boy could cause her. Has caused her.

"Why are you here?" Derek demands once he pulls open the door. Scott looks, and smells, anxious. There is no longer the familiar scent of pack on him and Derek knows that there probably never will be again. Scott's an omega now, it's what happens when you betray your own pack, your best friend, for the daughter of the leader for the most fears hunter family known.

"I wanted to see Stiles." Derek watches as Scott gathers his bravado, tries to strengthen himself for an argument. "She's my best friend and I wanted to make sure she was okay." He suppresses a growl, glowering at him instead.

"And where were you when she was being attacked in an alleyway, or trying to scrub her skin off in a shower, or almost jumping from an over 30 foot roof? What gives you the _right_ to be here now?" Stiles splutters, stinks of confusion and anger at the accusations and plain disgust in Derek's voice.

"I'm her best friend!" It's a weak argument at best, but Derek did tell Stiles he was going to let Scott explain himself and he can feel her curiosity from here.

"If you hurt her today, I will refuse you access to Hale land for as long as you live. Understand?"

"You can't do that! I'm pack." Smug, stupid Scott.

"Not anymore. And I mean it, now get in there. Be gentle and explain why the hell you weren't here when she needed you." Derek growls at him, stalking away and through to where Stiles was now sat, legs curled underneath her. Scott followed behind him, slamming the door and making Derek growl at him. He took a seat beside Stiles this time, leaving the armchair to Scott who sits, picking at the skin around his thumbs in a familiar show of anxiousness. He watches as Scott take a deep breath in and then look up at Stiles, head tilted in confusion like a puppy.

"Why do you smell really sick and really healthy at the same time?" He murmurs, just about loud enough for Stiles to hear. She gives a nervous chuff of laughter in reply but glances at him for answers. He has none, he'd smelt it on her too, but up to now he has no idea. It could be anything, and other than things that he thinks are to be expected after what she has been through, there has been nothing unusual.

"Don't know." Stiles returns quietly when he gives her no response, and Scott just shrugs his shoulders and goes back to picking at his thumbs.

"So.. Urm.. Where have you been?" Stiles starts the conversation again, since Scott seems to have become a mute. He shoots her a guilty look before averting his eyes to the fire.

"Derek told me I wasn't welcome anymore." She shoots him a confused look but he is still glowering at Scott. How dare he try to shift the blame here? He lets loose a small growl, gaining Scott's attention and added tension in Stiles' muscles. Derek sighs, rubbing small circles in the skin of Stiles' ankle beneath the afghan. Scott's shoulders slump even further, the guilty look and scent around him deepening.

"Okay. And why did he do that?" Stiles asks quietly, reaching under the blanket in search for Derek's hand. He knows what she is doing and moves a little closer so that she could wrap her fingers around his wrist for the pulse that lay there. Scott shoots him a dirty look as he watches them covertly interact, before going straight back to looking like a guilty puppy. He mutters a reply under his breath but Stiles pulls her eyebrows together and leans in a little closer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that?" Scott sighs, giving her a pained look.

"I was with Allison when I was supposed to be watching you."

"I didn't know anyone was supposed to be watching me. But alright, when was this?" Stiles inquired. Derek can't quite make out the confusion of emotions bubbling out from her.

"The- the day you were attacked and the pack found you. I was- Well.. Allison was upset because she didn't think her grandfather could have started this." His eyes go wide, what Stiles used to call his 'puppy dog' eyes. "She needed me Stiles. I took her out for a day away from town instead of watching over you 'cause Allison needed me." The emotions bubbling under Stiles skin finally settle, boiling down to betrayal and anger. Similar to those Derek is currently experiencing.

"You were with Allison?" Her voice is cold, hard. Scott just nods.

"You were with Allison when you were supposed to be watching me?" Another nod, anger growing and growing around her.

"You chose to take her away because she was upset whilst I was being raped?" God. Oh holy sweet mother of God, that's the first time that word has been used. Stiles hadn't even talked about it since the first day. And she had never used that word, not until now and it makes Derek want to throw things and destroy them all over again. Makes him want to rip Scott to pieces because it's his fault that this word has been thrown out, that Stiles is angry enough to say it for the first time. He's unleashed something inside of her that Derek wanted to coax out slowly, gently, help her through the aftermath of accepting what had happened. And even then, only after he and the pack had accepted it themselves so that they could help her.

It gets the wanted response though, because Scott flinches and whines.

"I'm sorry Stiles, but I love her. I love her and she was upset. I thought you would be home for the day, I didn't know anything bad was going to happen." Stiles takes deep breaths, winces as her cracked rib aches and her bruises throb in time with her fast beating heart.

"I've put up with your shit for years, Scott. You've been a crappy friend, but I put up with it. Because I love you like a brother. I fought to keep you safe, got you through turning, let those men  _defile_ me to protect you. And you were with Allison because she was upset while I was being attacked in a filthy alleyway?" Her voice is quiet. Hard, cold ice that makes Derek shiver. She is unrecognisable like this, but in some ways he had always known this was inside of her. This anger, this pain. It was just a matter of time before it erupted.

"Stiles, please.." Scott whines, but Stiles shoots him a cold, empty look.

"Get out." She whispers, and Derek can feel the pain, betrayal and anger bubbling inside of her. Knows there is going to be massive repercussions because of this silly boy's actions. His misplaced loyalties.

"Please, no. Gwyn, please-"

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare use her nick-name against me you bastard. Get out." Her voice is raising, fists clenched. "Get out. Get out. Get out!" She is on her feet now, afghan abandoned to the floor and Derek can see her swaying unsteadily as she screams at Scott. There are hot, angry tears rolling in fat lines down her face as she breathes heavily, staring at him with such anger, such pain that Scott almost crawls to the front door in his attempt to get away from the guilt of it all. The door slams behind him but Stiles doesn't even flinch. Her breathing is laboured, eyes glassy, she is swaying unsteadily on her feet and Derek has to almost throw himself towards her to catch her before she hit's the ground. One hand over her chest, holding her against him, the other carding through her hair.

"Breathe with me Stiles, come on. In. Out. In. Out. Come on." It takes too long, Stiles is hyperventilating to the point where Derek fears she will be unconscious if this continues any longer. Then, without warning, her breathing evens out. It takes a second, but he can feel it building beneath his hands, in her body. She starts screaming, tears running freely as she fights against his hold. The pack are back now, having come inside just as her breathing began to even out, hovering and watching in fear.

"I can't! Can't do this. Let me go. Let me go." Stiles whines, and Derek buries his nose beneath her ear, nuzzling into her as she screams, cries and thrashes against him.

"Not letting go. We're here, Stiles. Pack. Take our strength, we're here. It's okay." The screams slow, until she is a limp body in his arms, heaving for breath and whimpering, trembling.

"No its not. It's not okay. It's not."


	11. Lost

Stiles had dissolved into just screaming. Words [failed](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/11/Flinching) her as she screamed and cried, pounded her fists against Derek in an attempt to get away from him. The pack stood and watched in horror and pain as she began to lose herself to it. Voice hoarse, still screaming, as the sounds turned from pain to fear and Derek could tell she was falling into memories again.

"No." She whispered, caught once again against Derek's chest. The screaming stopped, but the next almost wish it had continued. "No. You can't do this to me anymore." She had whispered, eyes closed tightly, body rigid and tense. An unusual scent filled the air, coming from Stiles' frozen body, as the veins in her wrists flooded a deeper blue. Her eyes opened, but there was none of the Stiles they knew there. Gently, she pulled back from Derek and he let her go, shocked at the change.

"You won't hurt us, or them, anymore." The scent grew stronger the more rigid Stiles body became until it exploded from her. It smelt like darkness and pain, suffering and determination and desperate need. Magic born of self preservation mixing with selflessness. It didn't touch the wolves other than a scent and a hard shiver, but the [windows](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/11/Flinching)shattered, the light bulbs exploded, he could hear books from shelves falling from somewhere inside the house and the TV flickered incessantly. There was clattering in the kitchen and a choked squeak from Isaac.

"Urm, Derek. There are knives floating in the kitchen doorway." Isaac whispered, edging further towards his Alpha. Derek turned panicked, confused glance behind him to look at the knives that were hovering in the kitchen before turning his attention back to Stiles. She was still lost inside her mind, shaking with the obvious effort it took to keep up this level of power. Power he didn't even know she possessed.

"Just- Don't move too quickly or panic too much. We need to talk her out of this." He took a tiny step towards Stiles, arm outstretched, and her eyes snapped towards him. Still empty, nothing that was Stiles was left inside that dead stare.

"Stop. You are not allowed to hurt us. Not them. Not again." Derek shook his head, taking another small step towards her. The scent grew stronger, vases and pictures falling from their places around [the room](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8808328/11/Flinching).

"Stiles. No one in this room is going to hurt you. It's Derek, and you're safe. They're gone, remember? They can't ever hurt you again. They can't hurt any of us again." The non-Stiles tilted her head to the side, considering him, before she directed more of the power towards him. What was once uncontrolled power seemed to be falling into control and he needed to bring her back from this before she was lost completely.

"Don't. Stiles, come on. You know I'm not going to hurt you. It's me, it's Derek."

"I won't fall for your tricks again." She hissed at him as he took another step towards her, pushing through the barrier of magic he was being hindered by.

"No tricks. It's really me. Come on Stiles. Gwyn. Come back to us." The darker colour of her veins faded slightly at her mothers nickname for her, a small spark of Stiles coming back from deep within her.

"Derek." Stiles whimpered before the magic took hold of her again, forcing her to take a step back from him. "No. Not Derek. I won't fall for this." At least he had an opening now, a way to get through to her.

"Gwyn. You're safe. It's really me. Derek. The pack is here. Lydia, Jackson, Boyd, Erica, Danny. Your Isaac is here, Gwyn. He's safe. We are all safe." Isaac whimpered behind him, sobs breaking free, and Danny wrapped his arms securely around the young werewolf in comfort. It was working though, the sound of Isaac whimpering and keening for Stiles to come back, the use of her name. The veins flickered between dark and light, recognition and spark filling her back up at she came back to them. Consciousness returned to her as the scent rescinded. The scent of her fear, pain and exhaustion filled the air again and as horrid as that was, Derek was almost relieved. She was back from wherever his Stiles had gone.

"Derek." Stiles whimpered, shaking as she reached out to him with tears streaming down her face. He watched as her knee's buckled, reaching out for her. His arms caught her just as she fell, moments before she hit the floor and she was unconscious. Unresponsive. It panicked him, as he turned to his pack to find them frozen in fear behind him.

"W-what was that?" Isaac whispered, head cradled against Danny's chest, tears still smudging his face as he tried to calm his sobs. Derek shrugged, lost for words.

"We should take her to Deaton… Call her dad?" Jackson proposed and Derek nodded, just glad of a plan of action. He scooped Stiles' tiny form up into his arms, heading towards Danny's car. The Camero wasn't big enough for the entire pack to fit in and Danny had just bought a new SUV with his trust fund. Laying Stiles in the backseat after the door was opened, he climbed in with her, followed by Isaac and Danny smushing in as close as they could. The others squashed into the front, Jackson driving, as they headed towards their local mage and veterinarian.

Stiles shivered and twitched against him, cold in his arms, still unresponsive to touch or voice. Her skin seemed almost transparent, now pale veins visible through the pale skin, her heart beat slow and lazy, breathing shallow. Derek hated not knowing what was going on, not being able to assess and plan and act. Right now, with zero knowledge or any way to combat this new threat, he could do nothing and his wolf was twitching beneath his skin. It was making the other werewolves uneasy, but he couldn't pull it back, couldn't fight with the feeling of rolling unease in his stomach, the metaphysical scratching of a wolf contained to a cage. He growled at Jackson when he stopped at a red light until Jackson sighed and just kept driving. The Sheriff would have all fines dropped, given that Erica had called and let him know something had happened and he needed him to meet them at Deaton's.

It was another five minutes of driving almost double the speed limit, still too slow in Derek's opinion, before they reached the vets. Deaton was waiting outside for them like he was expecting this. Derek clambered out of the car with Stiles still cradled in his arms, getting colder and colder against him as shivers racked her unconscious body.

"I felt the magic from here." Is all Deaton says before leading them inside, and once again Derek is immensely grateful that Deaton is still the enigma he always was.

* * *

 

The pack, and Stiles' father, were gathered outside of an examination room. Relegated there once Stiles had been settled down onto a hospital bed that was set up in a very back room. Both Derek and the Sheriff were pacing as the others gathered together for comfort. They listened as Deaton moved around, heard his drawing blood, hooking up machines, tapping away at a keyboard and whispering things to himself. There was an increased thickness in the air for a moment that had Derek growling, unsettled and worried, before it dropped away and Deaton stepped out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"What has happened to my daughter?" John Stilinski demands, verging on manic, and Derek understands that. Barely keeping his own terror contained inside of himself. The pack was stood in a small semi circle behind them.

"Some recent event has triggered the latent spark inside of Stiles, and then added fuel to it. I don't know how, but she got lost inside a power she was not yet meant to possess." Deaton looks slightly more tired than usual, but his voice is still placating, his face pleasantly blank. Derek growls at him.

"Stiles is human. She doesn't have any latent spark!" The sheriff exclaims, hands clenched in frustration at his sides. The mage just smiles calmly at him.

"Stiles is a very strong spark, Mr. Stilinski. It just doesn't usually present this early, or this strongly, without training. I know you may think Stiles is merely a human, but cast your mind back to your wife. Did she ever seem able to know what you were thinking, or predict someone's actions, before they happened or before you spoke?" The Sheriff looks like someone has just hit him between the eyes with a hammer, eyes wide, head nodding without seemingly thinking about it.

"Yes, yeah. I thought she was just intuitive." He whispers, looking terrified and confused.

"Not quite. Just a dormant spark without training, passed on to Stiles. Something has triggered it, and I know about the recent actions committed by the rogue hunters, but had anything more happened recently?" The Sheriff directs his gaze to Derek, who drags his hands through his hair and down his face with a harsh exhale.

"She tried to jump of the top of my house last night, Jackson caught her. And she got into a massive argument with Scott because he wasn't there when she needed him. She started screaming as soon as he left, and then the magic kicked in." The Sheriff looks horrified, tears welling in his eyes as his breathing becomes heavy and painful. Gently, Isaac shifts forwards and tugs on his sleeve and guides him into a chair, explaining quietly what had happened in the background as the others continued to talk.

"Well, yes. That would trigger it on top of everything else. I am running some blood panels, hooked her up to some monitors and an IV. I've also shared some energy with her, in order to help her kick-start the replacement of her own. I think she should be much better by the morning, but one of you will need to stay with her tonight. She needs the extra supernatural energy to draw from and I can not offer her more of my own without risk." Derek just nods, turning to his pack and with a nod they know what to do. Take the Sheriff home, stay there. He would be staying, it was not up for debate. They return his nod and help the Sheriff to his feet, who shoots him a slightly grateful look. Derek knows the man has been painfully overwhelmed with everything that has happened, and Stiles would never forgive him if he let her father have a heart attack while she was unconscious. Once they have left, Deaton leads him into the room where Stiles is sleeping. Unusually still and quiet, covered in blankets and propped up on pillows. He's just glad that her heartbeat is back to normal and she seems less see-through. The visible veins under her skin are less prominent now. Derek hops up onto the bed, following instinct and pulling her gently into his arms, being careful of the wires and IV. Deaton watches them closely, usual blank face dropping into soft questioning, like he knows Derek has questions.

"Stiles was saying something, when the spark was working. About 'not getting us or them.' I'm sure the 'them' was the pack and the us referred to herself, but why the plural? Scott said something about her smelling healthy and sick at the same time. You don't think- they couldn't have gotten her- right?" Derek looks away from the mage's piercing gaze, moving Stiles' hand by instinct and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. It wasn't just her who had trouble sleeping without the grip now.

"I'm running bloods already. I will check, Derek. It should only be another hour before I get results, and I'm sure you and Stiles can deal with whatever comes your way." There is a sympathetic tinge to the mans voice that makes Derek think he believe she actually is- that she might have been left with a child conceived by force inside of her. It makes him shudder, trailing his free hand softly down her face and watching the way her eyelids twitched at the feeling, the way her head tilted slightly into his touch. He doesn't reply, doesn't have anything he can say to that. Instead he just settles this fragile human girl more comfortably in his arms and sets out to wait. Stiles is strong, she'll be awake before Deaton thinks, he's sure of it. And he needs to be ready for whatever is coming their way this time.

* * *

 

It's strange, thinking that a little over nine months ago the biggest worry in her life was the attack of an Alpha pack. There was no abusive hunters stealing things away from her that she could never get back, no lying to and avoiding of the pack. There was no PTSD moments, no thoughts of jumping off roofs, no latent magic flaring up at the betrayal of someone she once considered family.

There was no Deaton stood before her showing her a sheet of paper that told her that her hCG levels were high.

She almost wishes he and Derek would go back to explaining the huge flare up of magic and need for training as soon as she was ready. Wished she could go back to being unconscious and not know any of this, not remembering any of this. Back to a time when a magic vet wasn't showing her a stupid piece of paper that told her she was fucking _pregnant._

"No. Can't be. It has to be a biological response to the stress and the abuse, the weight loss and the Adderall. Can't be- it's not- no." She manages to choke out, curling up onto herself as much as possible. Ignoring the pain flaring through her injuries, staying out of the way of Derek's arms. Arms she wants to fall into, cry into.

"Stiles-' Deaton begins gently. "You know those levels would be lower if it was those things, not higher. Do you remember the last date of your cycle?" He looks impassive, but she blushes and shoots an embarrassed glance at Derek. He just nods at her to answer the question.

"Four months ago." She whispers, arms wrapping tighter around herself. Derek inhales sharply and Stiles whimpers into her folded arms until he reached out and brushes warm, reassuring fingers along her protruding spine.

"This can't be happening." She sobs, turning her head to the side to look up at Derek. "Not- Not like this. Not by them." Finally, she gives into the overwhelming desire and climbs into arms she knows will be waiting for her, burying herself into the reassuring warmth of Derek.

"Shh, it's okay." He hushes her, rocking gently. "We can deal with this, just tell us what you want to do and we will do it." Derek keeps rocking her until the sobs subside and she can think clearly. It takes a while, but she looks up at Deaton, begging him with her eyes to tell her what to do.

"I would like to do an ultrasound, just to see how everything it, but this is your decision. You need to decided this, because it's your body. Whatever you want to do, it's up to you." She gives him a slight nod, staying within the comfort of Derek, and he leaves to gather the equipment. They don't say anything to each other, he just continues to rock her gently, hands careful in their placement. She sucks in a painful breath as the mage rolls in a portable ultrasound, instructing her to lay back on the bed and roll up her shirt and push her sleep pants to her hip bones. Derek helps her lay out, and she shudders as she reveals bruised, painful parts of her body to the room. Derek's eyes tighten at the sight, but Deaton remains impassive as he waits for her, gel in hand.

"Now, this is going to be cold. Okay?" She nods, biting her lip and looking away as he smears chilled gel onto her stomach. There is a click as the machine turns on and she still isn't looking at them, trying not to flinch as the transducer is lowered to her skin, smoothing the cold gel across her abdomen as Deaton searches the screen for whatever it is he is looking for.

"Huh." Is all Deaton remarks, but it's enough to garner her interest and she turns back to the screen with trepidation. The wand is pressing hard into her body, making her want to tremble and fight her way back from the almost memory of too hard fingers against her body.

"What is it?" Derek questions, reaching out for her hand which she gives gratefully, gripping to him with all her strength.

"I can see it, almost, but it's blurry. I think you're still engaging the spark, just to protect the foetus." Stiles shudders, closing her eyes against the tears.

"From what I can see, you're about 17 weeks along, Stiles. A little over four months. Have you had any symptoms?" She shakes her head lightly, tears freeing themselves from beneath her lashes.

"How am I supposed to know when the migraines, cramps and nausea are caused by the attacks or by.. That?" The vet has no reply for that, instead turning off the screen and handing her some paper towels to wipe away the gel as he pushes the machine away. He turns back to her with a serious expression.

"I know this is a lot to take in, Stiles. But you need to decide what you want to do soon, legal limit of abortion is twenty four weeks in California which gives you seven weeks to decide. However, the longer you wait, the more traumatic it can be." Stiles shivers, tears drying in her eyes as she looks up to Derek. He looks pained, eyebrows drawn tight, the shine of tears in his eyes, mouth drawn in a straight line as he battles his emotions.

"I don't know what to do." Stiles whispers into the skin of his neck and he shudders against him.

"Are the risks higher, in her case? With the magic and the method of.. Conception?" Derek asks in a strained voice over her head. Deaton nods.

"It is, but that also means abortion will be more tricky too. You are clearly subconsciously protecting the child. Trying to remove it could result in magic we can not pull you back from, or damage you can not recover from." Stiles looks at him, wide eyed and painfully aware of Derek frozen against her.

"Are you saying I could die, if I want to get this out of me?"

"I'm saying it's a possibility. You need to decide if it's worth the risk."


	12. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was insanely difficult to write and trust me when i say that the fluffy part at the end of this one is not the end of the angsty pain that will probably be coming your way. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Stiles looks strangely calm in the wake of this new development, a kind of be-all-end-all resignation falls over her as Derek and Deaton stare at her. It’s unnerving.

“Okay.” Is all she says, causing both the men to frown at her. Stiles looks like she is considering something, deeply, before she looks directly at Deaton.

“Okay, do it. Get it out of me.” The mage looks frozen, usual peacefulness replaced with a gentle kind of horror at what Stiles is saying. That she would chose to rid herself of this child, at the risk of her own life. At the risk of everything.

“Stiles, you really need to consider this-”

“What is there to consider?” She cuts Deaton off, displeasure flashing across her face. “I was attacked, I did not willingly consent to that, never mind a child. I don’t want a reminder of it, of _them_ everyday. Get it out of me.” Derek lets out some kind of strangled whine, trying to hold it back. Debating with himself as to whether to pull Stiles closer or take his hands off her completely. He can’t believe she is even considering this. Can’t believe she thinks it’s even an option, to put her life at risk after everything they had gone through to get to here.

She had held him up in a pool for two hours and he had taken a bullet for her in the uneasy times before the hunter-pack treaty. Now she was giving that up because of this? Something that could probably be solved some other, safer way.

“I _can’t_ , Derek.” He shakes his head and decides on pulling away from her, getting off the bed to pace behind Deaton who is still looking vaguely shell-shocked.

“You can. You don’t even have to keep the baby, adoption could be considered. We could- I mean, there is probably ways to suppress the magic if you’re dead set on this. Don’t just give up now.” She looks at Deaton like he has all the answers, but before he could even say anything Derek can see an idea brighten in her eyes, can feel the way she is twitching beneath her skin.

“Turn me.” Stiles demands, attention back on him and he splutters. There isn’t a blip in her heartbeat like there is whenever they talk about this. Why would she even want this? His glance at Deaton shows him a closed off expression as he stares at Stiles.

“Why do you want me to turn you?” His voice is wrecked, and not in the way he usually likes. It’s dry and scratchy and he thinks that in this moment he could probably admit that he’s terrified. Terrified for her, and of her.

“You can either be a mage or a werewolf, can’t be both. I turn, I’m no longer magic and you can get this… thing out of me relatively safely. Right, Deaton?” They both stare at him until he gives a tense nod, glancing at Derek out of the corner of his eyes. There’s a look that Derek can’t quite understand, but he’s fairly sure it’s begging him to find a way out of this.

“I won’t bite you for this.” Derek tells her, just as Deaton sighs and tells her;

“I won’t perform the abortion.” Stiles deflates, and he can see that underneath all of this heartless demanding, she’s just as terrified and horrified as she was when they first found her behind that building. The shaking in her shoulders is almost imperceptible until he hears the first sob and she’s curling up into herself. He watches as she lets out a gasp of pain as her rib protests, and then her fingers slip against the gash in her side. Watches as she digs her fingers into it, curls further into herself. Causes herself pain. He does nothing, stands there frozen as she shakes, sobs, begs them.

He still won’t do it. Neither will Deaton.

Derek can feel the pain, terror, sickness rolling off her and he doesn’t know what to do. There is no way he could get close enough to touch her, comfort her right now. They have both just taken away all of her options, and it’s something he didn’t want to do to her, ever. Somewhere inside he knows he had to, couldn’t risk her in exchange of getting this baby out of her. Eventually, Deaton turns stiffly and leaves them to it, unsure of how to proceed from here. Leaving Derek staring at a sobbing Stiles, a Stiles who is inflicting pain upon herself as some kind of sick punishment. Unsure of what to do.

* * *

Eventually, Stiles had fallen asleep still curled up and sobbing to herself. Once he knew she was deeply enough asleep to not be terrified of his approach, he straightens her out a little so that she is no longer injuring herself anymore. He can feel how weak she is beneath his fingertips, can feel the tremors still running beneath her skin. There is an overwhelming urge to gather her into his arms, to tell her that yes, yes he will do anything for her if she would just be okay again. He’d turn her, he’d find someone else to do the procedure. Anything, if he could just have the old Stiles back.

He won’t though, because he can’t risk her. With a sigh, he heads out into the main offices to find Deaton.

“How is she?” The mage asks once Derek closes the door behind himself.

Sleeping now.” He responds, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed against his chest. He drops his head and takes a deep breath before he looks back up at him.

“Is there anything we can do? At all. I don’t think- She wont cope with this.” Derek shakes his head sharply, trying to dislodge the images that flash through his mind of Stiles back on the roof; hanging from the ceiling fan in the sitting room, unconscious in the bathtub filled with blood and stinking of alcohol and medication.

“Nothing that won’t risk her, Derek. I’m sorry, but either Stiles tries to get what she wants other ways and risks herself, or she learns to cope. There is no other way.”

“What if I did turn her, would you do it then?” There is a desperation, badly concealed, in his voice. Something raw that he hasn’t heard since he walked up to a fire fighter and asked if his family had gotten out before the fire. Deaton shakes his head.

“In Stiles’ current state, she probably won’t even make the transition. Even if she did, she isn’t in the right state of mind to make these decisions. I can’t, in good conscience, do it.” Derek deflates, knowing that there is nothing else he can do is not something he likes to admit. He knows that this will either make or break Stiles, and he’s edging towards break. Through everything, all the pain and anguish in his life, he doesn’t think he can watch her go through this. But he’s going to have to, or risk losing her forever.

“Take her home, Derek. You can figure this out between the pack. Just, keep her as calm as you can.” There is a brief pat on his tense forearm before Deaton leaves the office. Derek can hear him walking into Stiles room, checking the vitals on the screens beside her bed and sighing heavily. Once Stiles woke up, he would take her back to the Hale house and try to talk to her again about this. Until then, he needed to talk to the pack.

* * *

The Sheriff throws his whiskey glass across the room when Derek tells the pack. They’re stood in the Stilinski kitchen, each in a state of shock, horror, disgust.

“How can this be happening?” Stiles’ father roars, drawing a whimper from Isaac. He can feel the sadness washing over the pack as John begins to breathe deeply, fists clenched at his sides. They can smell the tears in his eyes and the pain flowing from him.

“What did my daughter do to deserve this?” Derek hears him whisper to himself and he wants to fall to his knee’s and beg for this mans forgiveness. Forgiveness for ever dragging Stiles into this mess, for letting it happen, for not having the solution or the answers. Instead he blinks away his own burning tears and lifts his head to meet the Sheriff’s gaze.

“We can’t let her do what she wants to do about this.” He says, blank and emotionless as the pack glances between the both of them. John takes a step forward, knuckles white with the strength he is clenching his fists.

“You taking her choices away too now, Hale? Hasn’t she had people making her do things she doesn’t want to do too many times recently?” He spits out. Derek wants to take a step back, wants to tell him that he doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to take the choices away. That if he could, if it didn’t mean risking everything that was good in all of their lives, he would do what Stiles had asked without hesitation.

“If I don’t, she will die.”

“If you don’t, she’s probably going to die anyways. It’ll just be slower, we’ll all have to watch her fade away.” Isaac whispers into Danny’s shoulder, and at any other time Derek would be interested in how those two have gotten so close, but now is not that time.

“What do you want me to do? I can’t risk her, we can’t lose her. There’s no other option.”

“You figure this out, Derek.” The Sheriff moves closer and closer until he is toe to toe with Derek. “You fix this, because this is your fault. You dragged her into this, you goddamn fix it.” Derek drops his head, defeated and exhausted, and nods.

“I know.” He whispers back. “I know.”

* * *

Stiles says absolutely nothing to any of them the next day. Not when Deaton gives her a list of things to eat, not eat, to do and what not to do. Not when Erica and Lydia come in to help her change into clean clothes brought from her own house. Not when Derek helps her out to the car. There is hardly even a glance in their direction, like she is lost again in her own thoughts.

The Sheriff refuses to tag along to the Hale house, and tells them to keep Stiles there. Because as much as he loves his daughter, they all know he can not deal right now. It’s okay, the pack will deal for him until he is ready.

At least, they would if Stiles would just tell them what she needed. When Isaac had asked her where she had wanted to go, when they got back to the house, she had told him in few words to take her to her own room in the house. Then she had glared at Isaac, and everyone else, until they left her alone on the window seat. He knows Jackson made sure all of the upstairs window were key-locked before they got back this morning, so at least that isn’t a possibility. And they’d hear her if she left the room. Even so, each of them took turns sitting outside of her room.

Lydia had talked to her about the new clothes she had bought last week, and Jackson read to her with Isaac. Danny explained how to create a fake ID, Erica and Boyd sang funny made up duets. Derek did nothing, until he heard her call him in to the room more than eleven hours after they brought her home. He heard the pack stop what they were doing, currently making dinner in the kitchen, to listen to their conversation once he had closed the door softly. Stiles was still sat on the window seat, only now she looked slightly more peaceful than she had when they had left her alone all those hours ago.

“Do you need something?” He asks hesitantly, unsure of what she called him in here for. Stiles’ room is a mess of colours and pictures, books strewn out over ever surface. All things she had left here after late nights of pack bonding and research during the Alpha Pack attack. She looks back over her shoulder to him, and he can still see the stifling pain, the horror and fear she is still feeling, but underneath that is a kind of acceptance. A reluctant one, like she isn’t quite sure of what she has decided, but it makes him hopeful anyway.

“What I said last night.. I was in shock, it was heartless.. I-” Stiles looked down at her hands, twisted together and clenched in a way that must have been painful. Derek took a tentative step towards her, brushing her fingers lightly in hope that it would loosen them. He didn’t think he could sit and watch her cause herself anymore pain.

“It was a huge shock, and I don’t think there is anything wrong with the way you reacted.” Stiles shoots him a tiny smile that makes his stomach flutter, the first he’s seen in so long.

“I don’t- I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with this, but.. It’s not the- the babies fault who it’s father is or how it was conceived, right? So maybe.. I don’t know. If you will help me? Maybe I could.” Derek sits down in the space at the end of the window seat, back against the wall as he watches her.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have no choices here, but Stiles. I’m not going to risk losing you again. I told you that yesterday, and I meant it.” She relaxes her hands and grasps his fingers, still lingering gently over her own.

“But you’ll help me?” Her voice is so tiny and meek, and Derek is reminded that this is just a young girl, not even out of high school yet. Only a year older than he was when his family burnt.

“You know I will.” Derek replies just as quietly and opens his arms for her as she slowly shifts towards him. She is light, bones and skin and wasting away still. “But you have to help yourself first.” He mutters into her hair as she settles her head against his chest.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, hand shifting to wrap around his wrist in a way he hadn’t thought he had missed last night. He had, of course he had. It’s not just Stiles that needs that reassurance now.

“You weight about 90 pounds soaking wet right now, you need to eat. You need to sleep. We need to figure out what it means for you to be a spark.” She shivers against him.

“I just.. I feel sick all of the time. And the nightmares, and the panic attacks. I don’t know how to anymore.” The admission comes buried in his chest, where she has turned her head. He can feel the tears wetting his shirt and sighs, stroking down her arm absently and taking some of her pain with him in dark lines through his veins. Stiles sighs in some relief as she relaxes a little against him. He has missed this Stiles. Missed the one who trusted him, who believed in him to listen to her problems and make them a little better. That Stiles might have only been gone for a night, but it had been a night too long when he considered how long it could have lasted.

“We’ve got time. You’re going to be okay, Gwyn.” He whispers the name into her hair like a prayer. He expects her to fly off the handle at him, but she doesn’t. Just gives him a tiny smile.

“Promise?” She asks quietly.

“Promise.” He replies, and goes back to pulling her pain away a little at a time.


	13. Danger

Derek is asleep an hour later, curled close but not around her, and she takes the rare opportunity of weakness and sleep-riddled vulnerability to outline a rune against his chest, and another against the door of the room they are currently in. He looks more peaceful like this than Stiles has seen him in so long, and it’s painful to know that what she is about to do will probably destroy everything they have built together. It has to be done though, there is no way she can keep going with this _thing_ growing inside of her, whether that means turning – or dying- then so be it. Anything will be better than a constant, unavoidable reminder that those men ever existed, that they ever laid hands on her.

Stiles packs a bag quietly, both thankful and resentful that Deaton ever taught her the runes and magic she knows now. As useful as it is that Derek won’t wake up until she is well out of his territory, she guesses there is also a little part of her that wishes he was strong enough to break past it and stop her. It’s that part, that probably most logical part, of her that makes her rush, pushing whatever clothes she has at the house into a bag and shutting the door ever so quietly behind her. There is no last risky glance behind her at Derek, snoring peacefully, because she knows her resolve might just crumble. Instead, she continues along the hall, pausing the etch the same runes over each of the packs doors as she passes them. Hopefully, they are all in the rooms upstairs, because she doesn’t have the energy to perform any on the spot, high powered magic to take a werewolf down for a while if she crosses them downstairs.

Which is, of course, exactly what happens. Yet, before she has a chance to summon something up on the spot; Isaac approaches from the shadows of the porch, Erica’s car keys in hand, and gives her a knowing look.

“Let me help you.” Isaac whispers to her, coming forward slowly until he can reach out and wrap a hand around her wrist lightly. “Let me come with you.”

“How do i know you won’t just tell Derek where we are once he wakes up?” She whispers back to him, trembling with fear and cold. Being outside without Derek hasn’t happened in so long, it’s hitting her hard how much this vulnerability is what caused this situation in the first place. Isaac takes another step forward, slides her backpack off her arm and up onto his own shoulder, and then takes her face so carefully between both his hands.

“I can’t watch you fade away. I won’t watch you die, because you will, if we let this happen. This way, at least you have a chance. Please, Stiles. Let me come with you.” There is a moment of tense, painful silence between them before she nods jerkily and Isaac sighs his relief against her hairline. Reluctantly, he pulls away and turns, leading her towards Erica’s red mini at the edge of the tree line.

Stiles is shaking, almost wrecked with the memories she encounters as they make their way out of town. As they drive past her house and she recalls both the way her father pulled her into a hug before he went to work, and then how those men had turned up not ten minutes later and took their payment against the side of the house, in her mother’s old flower beds. The park, where it was against the jungle gym, arms tied around the bars behind her. Against the school. In the back alley of that pharmacy.

Isaac reaches out, hand on her knee, and she yelps and tries to curl herself into the corner of the car. It hurts, pulling against the injuries littering her body, but she whimpers and clenches her eyes closed against the assault she thinks is coming.

“Stiles. Stiles! Look at me, it’s Isaac. Come on.” The pain dissipates a little and she can think more clearly, a glance up showing Isaac’s face screwed in concentration as the black lines of her pain make their way through his veins.

“Isaac.” She manages to breath out in relief, pulled away from an almost flashback. He nods, giving her a sideways smile before turning his attention back to the road.

“Just hold on for me, okay.  We’re almost out of town.” Stiles sighs in relief and fear, settling more comfortably in her seat and closing her eyes.

Maybe, if she could sleep, this would all go away.

* * *

The minute he wakes up, there is a sense of wrongness. It takes him a moment to blink away the sleep still in his eyes, clear his head of a fogginess that seems to have descended, but it becomes glaring obvious when he remembers that he fell asleep with Stiles beside him last night, and she isn’t here now. A few months ago, during pack puppy piles and such, that wouldn’t have been worrisome, but Stiles hasn’t left a room without him since they brought her back. It has Derek catapulting out of bed, hurtling towards the doors, before he realises the faint blue glowing symbol on his chest, and the one over the door.

“No.” He growls to himself, throwing the door open. A glance along the hall shows each door with a similar symbol carved over it, the glow fading out slowly, and the sound of pack members waking up with groggy heads and no idea what is going on. He growls at them to get out of bed, making his way along the hall as he followed Stiles’ faint scent until it reaches the doorway. A quick heartbeat count tells him there are only five other heartbeats in the house, scent tells him what he already knows.

Isaac and Stiles are gone.

The others a crowding behind him, all looking like human hangover victims, as he clenches at the doorframe and trying to control the shift.

“S’goin on?” Erica mumbles sleepily, leaning into Boyd’s chest. He would tell her she looked a bit weak, but there are the obvious black lines flowing through her veins from where her hand is touching Lydia’s arm; and the same is happening from where Jackson has a hand on Danny’s bicep. If he wasn’t such an angry mess he would comment on how much they were coming together as a pack, how good it was that the wolves felt this protective and proactive regarding the human members of their pack. However, two members of his pack is currently missing, and he doesn’t have time for this pleasant bullshit.

“Stiles and Isaac are gone.” He growls out, letting go of the doorframe before it splinters. The pack looks confused, glancing around them.

“Like, gone to the store gone? Or left without a trace, gone?” Danny asks after he throws Erica a grateful smile and offering her a kiss on the cheek.

“As in, Stiles worked a rune, packed up some things looking by the state of her room, and left town with Isaac.”

“Well, she can’t have gotten far right? Not in her...state. Can we track her?” Jackson had reached out a pulled Lydia to him, holding her against his chest like a lifeline. Derek  nodded jerkily.

“Check her house, Deaton, the school. Anywhere. I couldn’t see your car out there, Erica, so it looks like they took that. Danny, Lydia. Do you think you can track her? Phone, car GPS, fucking magic tracking?” Erica swore under her breath, taking a cursory glance around for her keys even though she knew they wouldn’t be there.

“I can try their cells, and if they turn on Erica’s satnav then we can trace that too.”Derek nods and Danny takes that for the dismissal it is, heading up the stairs with the other beta’s to change, leaving Derek and Lydia stood in the doorway.

“I can’t use the magic Stiles can. There isn’t any way i can trace with crystals the way she has been taught.” Lydia admits, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “But, i can head to Deaton’s with Jackson and ask him?” Derek nods again, as he had with Danny, and Lydia turns to find clothes. She is halfway up the stairs before he calls out a thank you.

* * *

They aren’t in town. Their scent drops off into exhaust fumes at the tree line, and Derek follows the scent of car out to his territory line before he has to turn back. The periodic messages he gets from the pack tells him that their scent is no where new, that all of the places they could think of are Stiles and Isaac free. Even Danny can’t find them, which means that they probably know they are looking. It leaves only Lydia and Deaton, who have somehow gained a Sheriff Stilinski, at the vets office.

“Anything?” Derek demands, pushing open the door into the back room. All of the pack have gathered here, surrounding Stiles’ father for comfort, even if he doesn’t feel it as keenly as someone directly pack would. As keenly as Stiles used to.

“We’re waiting for the blood to warm up before we can do anything, it will be another few minutes.” Deaton tells him, causing Derek to growl.

“Blood?” Lydia glances up at him from the map of America in front of her.

“We need it for things like these, or to figure out blood types in case anyone is hurt. Deaton has a vial of each of our blood.” Derek just tilts his head in understanding and then looks over at the Sheriff. The man looks like he has aged ten years, trembling slightly, the scent of whiskey still lingering on him over the top of anger, sadness and disgust.

“What is my daughter doing, Derek?” John whispers to him, voice hoarse and dry. His eyes are rimmed red, tears still gathering in the corner no matter how many times he tries to blink them away.

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly, before turning to the pack. “Does she know any other magic working medical professionals?” Derek is pretty sure he knows that answer, but he almost hopes it is this, because the alternative is possibly worse.

“No.” Lydia’s voice replies to him behind the wall of male pack members and Erica. He can faintly see the shake of Deaton’s head.

“There aren’t many around, and i’m sure she hasn’t met one other than me.” Derek feels his wolf rising at the implication of what this means, before he turns back to the Sheriff.

“She’s looking for someone to turn her.”

“Into a wolf?” He asks, face ashen. He looks faint, and Danny leads him over to a chair in the corner. Derek follows, crouching down before the man.

“Yes. She’s looking for another alpha to turn her, because i refused. If she turns, then they abortion is magic risk free, but she has to take to the bite in the first place, and in her state? I’m not entirely sure she will.”

“What if she does, what then?” The Sheriff demands, tears falling as he tries to breath in and out. Derek looks away, down to his hands, before standing up straight.

“If she does, then she can get rid of the baby. But she either becomes an omega and has to fight her way back to us. Or she belongs to another alpha.” The Sheriff is watching him with weary, terrified eyes.

“And that means we’ve lost her forever, anyway.” He looks away as Stiles’ father buries his face in his hands and sobs, comforted by Danny and, now, Erica. Slowly, gathering his resolve around him, he makes his way to stand beside Lydia. The crystal is working a slow circle, held up on a thin chain by Deaton who is chanting lowly under his breath. Gradually, the spinning increases, but the circumference decreases with each spin until it lands heavily onto the spot.

“Is that San Luis Obispo County?” Jackson snorts. “I’m sorry to say, but i think you got that wrong. It’s like four hours away, we weren’t asleep long enough for her to get that far.” Lydia elbows him with a frown.

“She runed us, Jackson. We were asleep for three hours at the least, and we’ve spent the past hour searching for her. If they didn’t stop along the way, they made it there by now.” Another dirty look is shot Jackson’s way, like Lydia is seriously considering why she has such a dumbass for a boyfriend in comparison to her undenied genius, before she turns to Derek.

“So, do we know any Alpha’s over there?”

“Yes.” Derek growls out, curling his hands into fists, trying to breath past the mixture of fear and anger welling like a stone in his stomach.

“And?” Lydia prompts, hands on hips in irritation.

“If she convinces him to turn her before we get there, then it’s a done deal.” Boyd tells them, stood off to the side. He spares a Derek a worried glance and clears his throat.

“The last time he was here, he offered Stiles the bite of an alpha mate.”

* * *

Isaac had been twitching since Stiles had told him where they were going. Sneaking glances at her, vibrating with nervous energy. Once they’re about a mile out of San Luis Obispo County, he finally cracks, turning to Stiles with wide, frightened eyes. It’s a stark reminder that, while Isaac is a powerful werewolf, he is also an abused boy. The baby of the pack. The protected, not usually the protector.

“Are you sure? Verne’s pack is.. Stiles it’s volatile. If things go wrong, if he gets assertive or violent, i’m not going to be much help without the rest of our pack.” She reaches out, placing a hand lightly on Isaac’s arm as the tension in his muscles increases.

“He wanted me when he visited, after the Argent treaty was signed. He said the offer was there if i wanted it. If you’re worried, drop me off at the territory border and i’ll do it myself. I don’t want to put you in danger.” Isaac shakes his head, dislodging some tears.

“I won’t let you go in there alone. I can’t, but i’m scared for you Stiles. I’m scared.” It breaks her heart when his voice breaks, as he takes one hand off the wheel to grasp at her fingers tightly and bring them up to his mouth. The gentle press of lips makes her want to cry, to tell him to turn around and take her back. Anything, if it means Isaac is never scared again, but she can’t. This is her only chance, and he’d been right when he said either way this could be the end of her. She had to see this through. He keeps hold of her hand, pressed against his face now, as they come up the area marker for San Luis Obispo County.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles whispers to him as they make their way towards the alpha home of Verne’s pack. Isaac sobs, tears breaking through, and turns into the opening in the trees. He’s still sobbing as they pull up to the house, bigger than Derek’s in the woods of Beacon Hills. There are already wolves gathered around the door, Verne himself in the middle, grinning widely at them.

“We’ll be okay.” Stiles tells Isaac, squeezing his hand a little, even though she knows it’s a lie. Her entire body aches with the tension, her hands are shaking in fear of the unknown. Flashbacks of walking towards people who terrified her with a proposition, with a need, and the abuse that had been doled out afterwards threaten to overtake her.

“No we won’t.” Isaac replies, almost too quiet for her to hear.

They get out of the car anyway.


	14. Hale-Fallen Treaty

Verne's pack is three members short of Derek's, having lost members when they came across the Alpha pack a year before Beacon Hills did. That did not, however, mean they were weaker. A pack made up of four born wolves and two bitten is stronger than a pack that had been, at the time, made up of one born wolf, five bitten, two humans and the daughter of a hunter. Before the attacks, Verne's pack had been fifteen strong, mostly born wolves, and heavy on tradition. After the attacks, they might have been smaller, but tradition still stuck. That was the only reason Stiles was still human now, Verne had offered the mate bite of an Alpha and Stiles had declined, if the tradition of consent and pack integration hadn't been an issue for them, there is every chance he would have turned her anyway. Consent or no. He had, however, left the offer open if she was to ever change her mind. At the time, she told her that if she did, her own alpha would be the one to do it.

Today she was apparently proving herself wrong.

Isaac was at her side the moment they were out of the car, arm wrapped lightly around her waist. Careful of her injuries but in a position to keep her close and safe. There was a swelling point of guilt and pain inside her heart that she had brought Isaac, innocent, hurt, baby Isaac who would give his life to keep her safe no matter what. With her every step of the way. Even if it meant it was something he couldn't save her from. Even if she was walking into this danger as a fully consenting woman.

Verne watched with a polite, blank smile on his face from the porch of his house, flanked by his second and third beta's. His first was currently a pregnant female whose mate had died slowly of wolfsbane poisoning, caused by a tiny wooden spike lodged in his spine coated in the dust of the flower. It had been a slow, painful way to die and Stiles had seen him the day they made the treaty with this pack, just days before he died. They had heard nothing but the customary once a month check ins.

The arm around her waist was trembling slightly, she could feel the soft, shaking pressure against the skin of her back below the injuries she had sustained over the past few weeks. However, every other part of Isaac was poised and ready, alert for danger and on guard to keep them both safe. He tensed against her as Verne stepped off the porch towards them, however the other man froze at the miniscule movement and his polite blankness slipped into something akin to concern.

"Miss Stilinski, Mr Lahey. Not that we aren't happy to see you both, but may i ask why you have come into Fallen land without an arrangement from your alpha?" Stiles stepped out of the warmth of Isaac's arm, much to his dismay, and took a step towards the others. Slowly, she tilted her head to the side and bared her neck, an acknowledgement of his rank over her, before taking another step forward to address him.

"Mr Fallen, Verne, please. We- i- can we please go inside to discuss this?" Her entire body way shaking, trembling. Stiles hadn't been outside of Beacon Hills, outside of her pack, since the attacks and being this far away from known safety was bringing forward fears and memories that she didn't want. Isaac rushed forwards, extending an arm so that she could wrap her fingers around his wrist, finding her familiarity in the fast thrum of a pack member's heartbeat. Verne looked confused, but nodded his consent and waved them on in front of him.

Stiles knew that move, had learnt it in between months of danger.

Never let the unknown at your back. They're likely to stab you in it.

They followed Andrew and Oliver, Verne's second and third respectively, into a house that was only a slight bit smaller than the rebuilt Hale house. Derek's had once housed eighteen pack members at it's lowest amount before the fire. Those extra rooms were gyms, libraries, extra bathrooms now. Verne had never had a pack exceed 15 even at their height. They were lead into a large sitting room, and Stiles stopped dead at the unexpected sight of the other members of the pack in the room. Suddenly, they were a lot more outnumbered, and the fear wormed its way back in. The familiar feeling of Isaac against her was no comfort as the panic and memories threatened at the edge of her conscious.

"You need to calm down, Stiles. Please, _please_ calm down."Isaac begged in a whisper against his ear, his own fear breaking through. Verne appeared at her other side suddenly.

"Stiles? Is everything-" He reached out to put a hand on her arm but she threw herself away from both of them, out of Isaac's arm and against the door frame behind her. There, she lowered herself to the ground, curling up despite the pain and burying her face into her arms, curled around her knees.

"Don't touch me. Please don't touch me. I don't want to do it anymore. I'm sorry. Please. Please. _Don't touch me again."_ All there was in her head was the imaginary feel of two dead men's hands all over her, tugging at clothes, grabbing at her wrists and her waist and everywhere else their clammy, filthy fingers could get to.

It took an amount of time that Stiles couldn't even imagine to pass before Isaac's worried, pained voice broke through the memories and into her mind. He coaxed her gently away from the pain. From the anger and violation and the emptiness. He was crying in front of her, on his knee's and begging, hands outstretched but not touching. Verne was the only other pack member left in the room when she finally raised her eyes, wiping furiously at the tears making hot tracks along her sunken cheeks.

"Isaac." She managed to choke out, before crawling to him and falling into his lap as she sobbed. There was only a faint acknowledgement of Isaac lifting her, and then sitting on the sofa closest to them so she could cling to him, fall into him as closely as she could. There was only a murmur at the back of her conscious that Verne was still in the room, perching on the high wooden coffee table in front of them.

Slowly, with the soothing sounds of Isaac's voice in her ear, and his heartbeat against her fingers, she managed to pull herself away from the feelings left over from the flashbacks. Isaac let her out of the embrace as she pulled away, wiping at her face again as the last of the tears escaped from her tired eyes.

"Sorry, Mr Fallen." She murmured, not looking up to meet his eyes.

"You need to calm down, Stiles. Please, _please_ calm down."Isaac begged in a whisper against his ear, his own fear breaking through. Verne appeared at her other side suddenly.

"Stiles? Is everything-" He reached out to put a hand on her arm but she threw herself away from both of them, out of Isaac's arm and against the door frame behind her. There, she lowered herself to the ground, curling up despite the pain and burying her face into her arms, curled around her knees.

"Don't touch me. Please don't touch me. I don't want to do it anymore. I'm sorry. Please. Please. _Don't touch me again."_ All there was in her head was the imaginary feel of two dead men's hands all over her, tugging at clothes, grabbing at her wrists and her waist and everywhere else their clammy, filthy fingers could get to.

It took an amount of time that Stiles couldn't even imagine to pass before Isaac's worried, pained voice broke through the memories and into her mind. He coaxed her gently away from the pain. From the anger and violation and the emptiness. He was crying in front of her, on his knee's and begging, hands outstretched but not touching. Verne was the only other pack member left in the room when she finally raised her eyes, wiping furiously at the tears making hot tracks along her sunken cheeks.

"Isaac." She managed to choke out, before crawling to him and falling into his lap as she sobbed. There was only a faint acknowledgement of Isaac lifting her, and then sitting on the sofa closest to them so she could cling to him, fall into him as closely as she could. There was only a murmur at the back of her conscious that Verne was still in the room, perching on the high wooden coffee table in front of them.

Slowly, with the soothing sounds of Isaac's voice in her ear, and his heartbeat against her fingers, she managed to pull herself away from the feelings left over from the flashbacks. Isaac let her out of the embrace as she pulled away, wiping at her face again as the last of the tears escaped from her tired eyes.

"Sorry, Mr Fallen." She murmured, not looking up to meet his eyes.

"Please, Stiles. Call me Verne. And i'm the one who should be sorry, i didn't mean to.. trigger you like that." She let out a mirthless chuckle, clutching again at Isaac's hand like a lifeline.

"Everything triggers me these days, don't worry about it." In Stiles' periphery, she could see him nodding reluctantly. Isaac leant forward and picked up a glass of cool water from the table, Verne must have gotten it during her freak out, and offered it to her to sip from.

"So," Verne started once the glass had been put back on the side table, "How about we start with why you two are here without calling ahead?" He didn't sound angry, concerned and confused, but not angry. Stiles took in a deep breath, letting her doubts about this course of action, of what it would mean, overtake her again for a moment before she shook it away and managed to look up and meet the Alpha's eyes.

"I want you to turn me."

* * *

Derek paced, and paced, and then punched a wall, before pacing some more. The pack watched him warily, Stiles' father sat with his head buried in his hands.

"Call him." Lydia suggested, watching him make another lap of the room in agitation.

"And say what? Oh, sorry, don't turn a human and make your pack stronger because i want her to keep the child conceived through rape inside of her?" He snapped back, growling at the end as he paused his pacing and panted harshly. The fear, guilt and agitation was building inside of him, threatening to crush him under their weight. Lydia sighed heavily, hopping down from her seat on an examination table and coming to stand right in front of him, hand on her hips, determined look on her face.

"Say whatever you want, _Alpha_. Just make him listen, make him stop." The stared each other down, and he's once again reminded that if she was a wolf, if that was possible, she'd make an exceptional second. Not as good as Stiles would, if she were to be turned by him, but exceptional non-the-less. Derek finally let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand through his already messed up hair.

"Okay.. Okay. Erica, Boyd, i need you to go to Scott's and collect him. Tell him this isn't forgiveness, but it's a step up from being abjured from the pack. We need numbers in case Verne puts up a fight. Lydia, Jackson, go to the house. In the safe there are all the treaties that have been signed, find the Hale-Fallen agreement and bring it with me. I want you all back here in half an hour tops. Be ready to leave as soon as we're all here." Lydia smirked at him, grabbing Jackson as she turned to leave. Erica and Boyd already having left as soon as the order had been given. Deaton, Danny and the Sheriff watched him closely as he stood frozen, trying to work out in his head what he was going to say to Verne.

"Danny, do you have the pack Alpha's number on your phone?" Danny stepped forward, phone in hand with the number already highlighted. Derek gave him a tense smile, more like a grimace, as he took the phone from his hand.

"Derek." The Sheriff croaked out, standing and coming to stand right in front of him, hand on his outstretched as he reached to press a reassuring squeeze to Derek's shoulder.

"You love her." Stiles' dad whispers to him. He goes to deny it, but can't. He does. He does love her. He should have told her that already. "You love her, and you have to bring her back. Focus on that okay? You can do this, son." John gives his shoulder another squeeze, and remains right in front of him, eye contact and all, as Derek nods and presses the call button.

It rings and rings and ring, before someone finally answers.

" _Amelia Fallen."_ Derek remembers this woman, Verne's second, his sister. At least seven months pregnant and without a mate.

"Ms. Fallen, this is Derek Hale."

" _Ah, Alpha Hale. I assume you are calling about the two pack members that just turned up in our territory?"_ He nods before remembering she can't see him.

"Yes, that's right. I need to talk to Verne. Tell him this is vital, literally life or death." Derek isn't, as a rule, as much of a catastrophist as he used to be, but this moment is cause for dramatic introductions.

" _Alpha Fallen is currently talking to a very distressed Stiles and Isaac. I can't really disrupt them right now."_ A growl slips past his lips and the Sheriff gives him a reassuring look, a silent _'you can do this'_.

"Amelia, please. I need to talk to him before he agrees to whatever Stiles is asking of him. You know i wouldn't be calling unless this was vital." There is the faint sound of a discussion echoing along the line before Amelia is back on the line and telling him to hold on, that she will go and get her Alpha for him if it is so important. It feels like Derek's wolf is clawing under the surface, like he needs to run and howl and hunt, but he can't. He can't because Stiles is infinitely more important.

" _Alpha Hale."_ Derek sighs in relief as Verne takes the phone.

"Alpha Fallen. I'm sorry for the intrusion, but i know you currently have two of my pack in your territory?" There is a hum of confirmation from the other line. "Has Stiles asked anything of you yet?" There is silence for a while on the other side before the other Alpha sighs and replies.

" _Yes. Stiles has requested i change her just moments before Amelia came to me with your call... Derek.. What the hell is going on? That girl is a mess."_ Derek lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding when Verne finishes talking. Stiles is still human, still alive. He still has time to make this right. The Sheriff, still stood in front of him, deflates a little in relief at whatever expression or noise that Derek had made.

"Normally, i wouldn't tell you, but Verne. Please, don't turn her, don't do it. She isn't thinking straight."

" _That much is obvious."_ Derek chokes out a mirthless laugh, dragging a hand down his face. The hardest part, he anticipates, is convincing Verne to not do this. He had wanted Stiles the moment he set eyes on her, and this vulnerability would be the perfect opportunity.

"She's pregnant." All noise stops on the end of the line and Derek is sure the other Alpha has hung up before Verne lets out a harsh breath.

" _Okay, so why is she here like this?"_

"Stiles was.. abused, by hunters who convinced her it was a kind of payment to keep our pack safe. They're dead now, and we thought it was over, but Stiles' latent spark became very, non-latent recently and through testing we found out.. The magic, it's protecting the baby, she can't.. not safely while she's magic, but she can't be magic and a wolf. It would cancel it out. I couldn't turn her. Verne.. Stiles is too weak, the bite won't take." The silence is back before the sound of general sounds of unease from people clearly listening in on the story being told.

" _Fuck."_ Alpha Fallen hisses down the line, taking deep breaths.

"Verne, please." Derek pleads, begs down the line. He knows the other man can hear his desperation, it's practically a living entity inside this room.

" _Okay, Derek. I'll do what i can. I'll tell her there are things we need to do, talk about, figure out. Try and get some food into them. But get here, as soon as you can."_

"Thank you." Derek breaths, coughing to try and dislodge the emotion and gratitude trying to claw it's way out through his throat. "We're on our way, right now. Thank you." There is a noise of agreement, an unspoken _'you're welcome'_ and then the line disconnects.

Lydia, Jackson return five minutes later with the treaty, and Derek just nods at them to let them know that the call went okay. That Stiles is still safe. Erica and Boyd return not long after them, a quiet, worried looking Scott behind them.

"This is about Stiles, about keeping her safe. This does not mean you have access back to the pack, this is you making up for your mistakes. Understood?" Scott just nods, eyes averted in submission. They leave as soon as Deaton gives them some supplies, in case Stiles needs any 'magical assistance'.

Derek just hopes they make it before those supplies become necessities.

* * *

Stiles is fairly certain it's Derek on the phone when Verne is called away, and Isaac all but confirms it when he listens in on what he can hear of the conversation. However, the look on Verne's face, the way he glances down at her stomach as he walks back into the room, cements it.

"You know." She says, voice empty, and he just nods. It's a cold comfort that he looks more sympathetic than disgusted with her.

"Derek told me of your.. situation." Stiles sighs and goes to stand, pulling on Isaac's hand at the same time.

"Then i apologise for wasting your time. We'll be going now." Verne stands as quickly as she goes to move for the door. He doesn't touch her this time, luckily, be he does beg for her to stop a moment.

"You didn't. Stiles, it's okay. Just sit, i'm not saying no to your request, but there are traditions we have to follow, acts we have to go through before i can turn you." Stiles pauses, glancing hopefully up at the Alpha in front of her.

"What kind of traditions?" Verne gives her a smile, gesturing at the chair behind them.

"Well, we need to eat a dinner as a pack. Isaac, although i know you aren't applying for membership, you may join us. And then we discuss this with the rest of the pack, and if they agree we sign an agreement. And then, i can give you the bite."

Hope grows in Stiles' chest, that he will agree, that she will get the bite, that even if she doesn't survive, this will all be over. The hopeful glance she throws at Isaac is brighter than she's been in weeks, but he gives her a pained, tired look and it dampens it a little. Stiles chooses to ignore it though, tries to focus on the first positive for a very long time.

"Okay." Stiles agrees, and the grin Verne throws her is almost convincing.

 


	15. Double Cross

They're rushing, breaking speed laws in each town they pass through, escorted by the Sheriff in his cruiser, but Derek has this sinking feeling like it won't be enough. That Stiles will figure out that Verne is just delaying until he gets there, and her and Isaac will get back in the car and drive to somewhere unknown. Through the tenuous pack bond he has with Isaac, he can just about feel the uncertainty and fear his most vulnerable pack member is feeling, and it drives a horrid feeling into his chest that he can't do anything about it unless he reaches them in time.

Which he is fairly certain, with the luck he has, won't happen.

They pass the two hour mark and Isaac's distress increases tenfold, Derek can feel it building inside his chest and worming its way into a knot deep in his stomach. He can feel it spreading through each of his beta's, can even feel it infecting what's left of his bond with Scott.

They have at least another forty five minutes of driving if they can keep up this speed, it's not enough. Won't be enough.

They're going to lose Stiles. Maybe Isaac too, and once again it will be his fault.

Derek tries to lose himself in the driving, in keeping his foot down and his hand on the gears. Instead, he's assaulted with all the moments with Stiles where he could have told her how he feels, could have made this different. The image of pressing his lips against hers, of her giving back a little despite how scared she still was. He remembers in vivid detail the Stiles before the attacks, vibrant, brilliant, infuriating and beautiful. The way she would flaunt herself before him, with her mind and her body and her _smile_.

There is no smile now, and Stiles' mind has been dulled with each pain her body has endured, but she's still beautiful, she's still infuriating, she' still beautiful. She's still his.

He's still hers.

There are so many things he wishes he told her before this all went to hell, and those are the things he will start with when he finds her.

Isaac's fear peaks just as they pass the San Luis Obispo County border, and Derek swerves so hard he almost veers off into a tree. Thankfully, he gets the car under control before it gets too wide, but the fear, the terror still sits heavy in his stomach and like a crushing weight on his chest. He doesn't stop to think, to contemplate what that could mean because it's a sure-fire way to drive himself insane before he reaches Verne's house. Derek just puts his foot down, listens gratefully to the roar of his engine as he swerves around John Stilinski's cruiser and pushes faster than the others can. They're running out of time, he can feel it in the shivery emotions Isaac is, probably unknowingly, pushing along the bond.

Behind him, he can see the Sheriff's car and Danny's behind that, carrying the rest of his pack. He can feel their worry too, adding to his own, pressing a 'hold on, we're coming' along back to Isaac. It's unlikely that he knows what he's feeling though, so Derek keeps his foot down and his mind on Stiles.

They cut the rest of the drive down by fifteen minutes, and get there in what seems to be just in time.

* * *

It had started perfectly innocuously, Isaac and Stiles had sat opposite Amelia and Verne at the table, the other members of the Fallen pack around them, and they had eaten well. Stiles hardly managed anything, but out of necessity, more than anything, she choked down a quarter of her pasta and some of the bread roll put in front of her. Isaac didn't eat much more than that, and she could feel his nervousness in the twitching arm he kept pressed against her side as he scooted his chair closer. There had been easy going chats, some exchange of pleasantries. There had been some odd looks, glances exchanged between the other pack that Stiles didn't have the energy or the brain power to decode, and by the time dinner had finished, it had seemed like they had stopped anyway.

Stiles couldn't drag her eyes away from the bump swelling at Amelia's stomach, the way the other woman's hand would drop to it every now and again, the small smile that would grace her face as she stroked over it gently, lovingly. Stiles wished she could have that, a child she could love by a father that was good, and kind. Instead she had the spawn of an evil man growing inside of her, infecting her, reminding her every second of what they did, what she did.

Verne was the opposite of Derek, on the surface, open and calm with a smile that looked almost genuine and almost honest intentions. Underneath though, in the places that Derek keeps his darkest fears and desires, is where Verne also keeps his own, and although he's good at hiding it, Stiles can see that this man is ruthless and cruel in ways she doesn't think she's encountered yet. Each passing second the tension inside of her builds, the fear not only for herself but for Isaac grows exponentially each time he smiles at them, or watches them curiously. The decision to come here is becoming more and more like a terrifying mistake, and she knows something is definitely wrong when, as Isaac and herself are herded back into the sitting room, she can feel herself becoming sluggish and weak. She can see Isaac faltering beside her, shaking his head clear of whatever fog is over taking it.

Amelia helps her collapse into an armchair, and suddenly it feels like she can't move, like each twitch of her arm or raise of her foot feels like wading through syrup.

"Isaac-" She manages to rasp out, turning to look at where he was the last time she saw him, and the cry that escapes her when she finds him again is weak and raspy. Verne's enforcers have him trapped between them, pressed against the wall to her side. One has an arm across his windpipe, the other a firm grasp of his wrists and a strong leg crossing over Isaac's lower extremities. She tries to stand, but stumbles and ends up with Verne catching her and lowering her into the chair again.

"Wh're you do'n?" Stiles manages to slur out, mind clouding over with confusion and whatever drug has been slipped to her and Isaac.

"Helping you make the right decision." Verne grins at her, wide and manic as he leans over her with a hand on each arm of the chair. His vicious smirk swims in and out of her vision.

"You see, Stiles. Our pack was weakened in our fight with the Alphas, and we might have one wolf on the way, but it's not enough. You have presented us with a unique opportunity. A girl to turn with a child already on the way." Distantly, she can hear Isaac whimpering, trying to call out to her. She wonders, somewhere inside her muddled brain, if Isaac will survive this, whichever way it comes. That maybe, Derek will reach them in time to save him even if they can't save her, because Derek had to be on his was by now. He had to be.

"Let 'Sac go.. I- do an'thin" Stiles slurred out, trying to push past the mind fog, think clearly. She means it, if they let Isaac survive this, she'll do whatever they want to her. It's unlikely she would survive the bite, no matter how it's done or who by, there is no chance for her, but for Isaac. Maybe there is for Isaac.

"Nah-ah, can't do that." Verne smirks again. "See, Derek is getting closer and closer, and he is going to have to choose which one to save. Torn between the two of you. And, this way, we have more.. persuasive means of getting you to take the bite willingly." His logic is fucked up. They've already drugged her, nothing she does or says now will be willing. There is no consent inside of what he is doing to her now.

"Let- 'im go. You can-" Stiles swallows harshly, tries to get her thick, dry tongue to move around the words. "Consent.. the bite." Is all she manages before another wave of dizziness and exhaustion vaults over her.

"There would still be the issue of Derek, and you need something to fight for. Surely, knowing that your achieved turning might be the only way Isaac will survive is enough encouragement to gather the will for the bite to take?" Stiles only manages a whimper as she can see the other wolves growling, snapping with extended claws and teeth at Isaac. Sweet, innocent, baby Isaac. Who she dragged into this mess.

Stiles is reminded of the effects that Kanima Jackson's venom had on her and the wolves as she watches Isaac struggle against whatever they gave him and the hold of two strong wolves. A vague memory of Derek fighting against the effects raises faintly in her mind, watching him dig his own claws into his leg to kick-start the healing process.

Isaac is watching her through the space between the two men intently, fear in his eyes but determination evident in the lines of his face. As slowly as she can, Stiles raises her hands into the universal sign for claws, and drops it down to her leg. It takes a while, or it seems like a while, but Isaac nods slowly. He whimpers like it pains him to extend his own claws, but she watches with pride as he battles through it and shifts minutely. A second later, Stiles can see blood staining Isaac's blue shirt, can see the clearing in his eyes as the healing begins fighting the foreign pathogens of drugs in his blood stream. It hurts something inside of her to see him in pain, but this could be the difference between them getting out of this somewhat unscathed.

It doesn't take long for the other wolves to realise what Isaac is doing, and they leap towards him suddenly. Amelia is suddenly dragging Stiles to her feet, one arm around her throat and the other pressing something sharp against her abdomen. Stiles lets out what she thinks is a scream, but Isaac is already fighting back, and he's strong. It's an underestimation on the other packs part that they didn't see how strong Isaac is. Especially when he is fighting for something he cares about. They forget that he was abused, and he has seen violence and death, and he knows how to fight back stronger and better to get himself and the people he loves out of danger.

Stiles must have closed her eyes for a while longer than she thought, because Amelia was edging them closer to the door and Isaac has two wolves down, and is now fighting with Verne and his third. He looks feral, wild and protective. Isaac's eyes are focused on her, the way Amelia has something horribly sharp pressed over where the baby is growing inside of her. His other senses are focused completely on taking down his opponents, fighting perfectly against both the wolves.

The gap for Isaac to run appears moments later. The fighting wolves have switched sides, putting Isaac closer to the door. Amelia would have to let her go to catch Isaac, and he's just about fast enough to run from this and into safer territory.

"Isaac-" Stiles gasps out, throat closed off by Amelia's arm. "Isaac, run!" She can feel hot tears streaming down her face as Isaac considers his options. His eyes are wild, wide and he looks so pained.

"Run!" She shouts again, or, at least she thinks it's a shout. Her mind is so clouded, disorientated and lost. There is pain, sharp, bright pain and she has a moment to think about what that is, blooming red hot across her stomach. There is clarity, and longing, and loss, because she is sure that a pregnant woman just thrust a knife into her womb and Stiles can see now what this child could be, the future it could have. How much she could love it, and how much it isn't it's fault who it's father is.

She had been lost, and now, when there is only the possibility of the death of both her and this unborn child, she is found again.

The pain fades with her consciousness.

* * *

Derek is out of his car, shifting quickly. He can smell blood, of the other pack, and of Isaac and Stiles. His beta and his human are coming towards him, Isaac carrying Stiles' limp body in his arms as he runs towards Derek. He can feel his pack lining up behind him, can smell the fear, terror and determination coming from each of them. He hears the snick of the Sheriff releasing his gun, and see's behind Isaac and Stiles, to the three feral wolves behind them.

"Derek!" Isaac cries, half relief, half begging, and he moves forwards, his wolves at his back. Soon enough, Isaac and Stiles are behind the line of able beings, safe and protected, as their pack protect them.

Verne, Amelia and Oliver are shifted, growling, coated in the smell of Isaac and Stiles' blood, tainted with wolfsbane and sedatives. They have paused, crouched and angry, but cowered by the size of Derek's stronger pack.

"I will give you a choice." Derek growls out, flanked by his beta's and his humans. "You either fight us, and you will die." The other wolves lunge forward, but Derek gives out a warning growl that is echoed by his pack, and the other wolves stop again. Derek is surprised at how well they managed to keep this feral, cruel behaviour hidden when they were in Hale territory for the treaty.

"The other choice is that we leave, and we never see you again. We tear up the treaty, and you fend for yourselves. You stay away from my beta's, and my humans."

"We need the strength." Verne growls, eyes flashing between human and Alpha. "We need them."

"They're mine. _She_ , is mine." Derek takes another step forward, again mirrored by his beta's, and finally, finally Verne and his other members cower. Derek knows he is intimidating, the power he gained from killing another Alpha during the final fight is immense, and Verne knows that. Can see that.

"This is over." Derek tells him, shifting back to human as Verne, weak and pitiful, nods once and keeps his gaze to the floor. He knows there will be no apology. Derek breathes deeply, pushing away the excess power, the fear.

Until the Sheriff and Isaac both shout for his attention, and he remembers that Stiles was unconscious and bleeding the last time he looked. He is on his knee's beside her in seconds, hands hovering over her as she is propped up on her father's knee. Isaac is slouched against the cruiser, bleeding but seemingly okay otherwise, healing slowly, but still healing.

"What happened?" He demands, glancing up at Isaac. There is no reply, Isaac has the same distant look in his eyes as he did when Derek told him Erica and Boyd had been taken, before they'd gotten them back. "Isaac!" He snaps, and thankfully the younger wolf comes into focus again.

"They.. urm.. they drugged us, maybe half an hour ago? I was trying to fight them off, clear a path to grab Stiles and run, but when it came around the pregnant one stabbed Stiles- Jesus, Derek. She stabbed Stiles, in her stomach!" Danny and Jackson move quickly, catching Isaac as he stumbles forwards and to his knees. Derek nods as they lift him, Isaac burying his face in Danny's shoulder, and they half drag- half carry him into Danny's car. Derek twists, throws Lydia his car keys.

"Split between the Camaro and the SUV, meet us at San Luis Obispo County's general hospital. It's about three miles north of here." Derek lifts Stiles from her father's lap, and the older man rushes to open the back doors of the cruiser so that Derek can lay her in gently, crawling in behind her to press against the wound, try to stem the flow of blood. The Sheriff starts the car a moment later, constantly glancing in his mirror to see how they're doing in the back. Stiles' pulse is thread at best, her breathing shallow, and she's still bleeding.

"Hold on, Stiles." Derek whispers down to her, leaning to press his mouth against the cool, clammy skin of her forehead. "Hold on."

* * *

There is an incessant beeping, a sting in her arm, a tense pain across her stomach and the horribly familiar scent of antiseptic and bleach.

Oh, fantastic. A hospital.

The light is stupidly bright when she makes an attempt at opening her eyes, and it takes a couple of minutes of clenching and squinting her eyes before she can keep them open for any length of time. Grogginess still lingers in her mind, so the fact that there is a warm, large hand on her forearm takes a while to be noticed. She knows who it is, however, before she even turns her head to the side.

"Derek?" Her voice is dry and scratching, her throat clicking as she tries to swallow. Derek shushes her, reaching out to cup somewhere she can't see and lowering the straw to her mouth so that she can take a drink. The liquid is blessedly cool, a relief if she's ever felt one, but a more alert glance at Derek takes away that sense of relief. He looks exhausted, at least three days of stubble, circles under his eyes and mussed up hair like his fingers have been buried in it over and over. He smells like coffee and deodorant.

"What happened?" Stiles whispers, trying to shift to somewhere more comfortable but stopping when it tugs at something in her abdomen.

"You don't remember?" Derek's voice is scratchy too, hoarse but in that _'i'm desperately relieved but need about a week's worth of sleep'_ way. Stiles shakes her head, trying to ignore the headache building behind her eyes.

"Verne drugged you and Isaac in an attempt to get you to turn and keep... Well, Isaac fought your way out, but between the drugs and Amelia stabbing you, things went south. We were lucky we got you here when we did." Memories, vicious and bright, overflow her mind in constant streams. She can remember the cruel look on Verne's face, and the fear in Isaac's eyes along with the determination in his face. She can recall perfectly the way the woman's arm felt across her neck, or the white, blinding pain of a knife sliding into her abdomen. There is, again, a moment of clarity, of need, and her hands drop to her stomach along with her heart.

"The.. is it gone?" Stiles chokes out in a whisper. Derek shakes his head.

"You managed to exhaust your current magic supplies keeping you both safe so we could get you here. The magic.. it's gone now. If you still want to- if you still don't want the baby, it would be safe now." Stiles considers her options closely. She could have this child taken from her body, and it would make sense. She is young, traumatised, scared and fearful of mostly everything. This is a child conceived between herself and one of those monsters. Yet, on the other hand, this is something that helped protect her when she was in danger, a child that would be powerful, and hers, and innocent. She would have the pack, and her father. Stiles would not be alone in this.

Stiles hadn't even realised she was crying until Derek was brushing away her tears and shushing her.

"It's okay, we can do whatever you want. As long as your safe."

"No." Stiles whispered, lifting her arm to wrap around his wrist, holding his warm hands against the cool skin of her face. "I- if i kept.. the baby. If i kept it, would you be there? You wouldn't leave me, right?" Derek's face is guarded, but there is hope in his eyes, bright and vibrant.

"I would never leave you. Never." He whispers back to her. Stiles is still crying against the skin of his hands.

"I wanna keep it, i think." Stiles tells him, eyes averted but still leaning into his touch.

"Are you sure?" She can hear the hope leaking into his voice. There is a moment of hesitation, but she looks up at him, at his brilliant face and his hopeful expression and the guarded lines around his eyes.

"M'sure." Derek gasps as she says those words, lurching forward to press a close-mouthed kiss against her lips before pulling away, pressing their foreheads together.

"Thank you." Derek murmurs. "Thank you."


	16. Lost Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of like a half chapter? Because I needed to explain Derek's big, deep down desire for Stiles' to have the baby. So, here you go!

It had been almost easy to forget, with Stiles’ disappearance and the actions of the Fallen pack, that Stiles was still a traumatised teenage girl who was terrified of anyone that wasn’t pack. She had only been awake for an hour when an unfamiliar doctor walked in, talking away about how pleased he was to see her conscious. Stiles froze in her bed, reaching out blindly and grasping Derek’s hand in a too-tight grip as her breathing began to falter. The doctor, a youngish guy, only stopped chattering on about nothing and checking over her vitals when he realised that Stiles was practically hyperventilating with fear and Derek was trying to calm her down.

“What’s going on? Ms. Stilinski, are you in pain?” The doctor approached the bed quickly, arm outstretched as if to soothe her with a hand on her forearm, but Derek almost growled at him. It took whatever he had left inside not to shift, to get this man away from her as the scent of her misplaced fear permeated the air.

“Get out, now.” Derek hissed, one hand on Stiles’ cheek to keep her focused on his face, the other trapped between her fingers.

“Mr. Hale, she’s my patient! I need to know what’s going on.” The man took another step towards them before Derek bared, thankfully human, teeth at him and the doctor froze.

“Stiles is an abuse victim, who was drugged and stabbed. She has no idea who you are. I don’t care if you want to go and find her father to discuss this with him, but you need to get out. You’re scaring her.” Stiles’ doctor looked flustered for a second before huffing and turning on his heel, swiftly exiting the room.

It had taken Derek close to an hour to get Stiles anywhere near settled after that, and it was another three before she would let him stray any further than the edge of her bed. Sometime between that, John Stilinski had spoken to the doctor, and arranged for the only person outside of pack or family to enter the room be Nurse McCall. Although still wary of her, Stiles didn’t fly into full blow panic when she came into the room, so it was an improvement.

There was a general fuss, all pack members attempting to cram into Stiles’ room as she attempted to sign herself out AMA, or at least get her dad to. John didn’t spend as much time as he maybe could at the hospital with Stiles, but he came when she called, and she had called to get him to spring her. They spent ten minutes arguing about whether she should be released or not, before Isaac practically whimpered and climbed into the bed with her.

“We almost lost you.” Isaac whined into her neck. “Please, please stay here until you’re better. Please.” Stiles had looked lost, glancing down at Isaac and then flicking her attention between the others before sighing heavily and nodding.

“Thank you.” Isaac had whispered into her shoulder softly, and he and Derek stayed with her that night.

Since then the pack had been trading shifts watching over her. Derek and Isaac took the night shifts, when Stiles would try to sleep and would need the both of them to ward away nightmares and match her unsteady heartbeat to. The others figured out a rota between them, and Scott sat in the hallway as often as he could, looking like the lost puppy he was. Derek was grateful the kid had intended to help with the Fallen Pack issue, but he had in no way redeemed himself. Therefore, no access to Stiles.

It was one morning, about six days after Stiles had been transferred to Beacon Hills General; when he and Isaac were leaving to catch some sleep and breakfast, that Isaac finally brought up what Derek had been hoping everyone would avoid. It was over pancakes and strong, black coffee that he finally gathered enough courage to actually ask.

“Hey, Derek?” Isaac had put his cutlery down onto his empty plate, hands wrapped around his coffee mug like a lifeline.

“Yeah?” Derek grunted at him, emptying his own cup.

“Why do you want Stiles to have this baby so badly?” He froze halfway to putting his cup down, staring at Isaac who blushed and began staring deeply into the liquid still in his own cup.

“I- it’s not- I just want Stiles to be safe, and happy. I don’t think she’s in any way to be making these decisions right now, and if we gave it any thought, we all know.. She wouldn’t want to.. not if she was thinking straight. So i want her to be safe, and happy. It’s not about the baby.” Derek stuttered, finally lowering his empty cup down to the table. It wasn’t the entire truth, just some truth mixed in with almost-truths, enough to confuse Isaac’s senses so that he could get out of this conversation without delving into things he wasn’t ready to talk about.

“Okay.” Isaac nodded, draining the rest of his caffeine.

“Okay.” Derek reiterated, throwing some bills down onto the table to cover breakfast. “Come on, let’s go get some rest.”

* * *

It weighed on Derek’s mind for the next two days as he tried to sleep at home without Stiles, and then tried to sleep beside her at the hospital. He kept thinking of ways to tell Stiles all the things she needed to know, without actually saying the words out loud. Kept trying to work around the choking feeling that descended on him each time he tried to force the words out, past the memories and the _need_.

Finally, on the third night after Isaac had asked, he skirted the night off because Deaton was in need of some help, and Derek was left alone with Stiles during the night. Curled up against him, Stiles’ body was warm and soft, still wracked with tremors and surrounded by pain and fear. He could faintly hear the echo of another heartbeat inside of her when it was dark and quiet and he was focused like this. It’s the double thrum that finally coaxes the words out of him, as he lay there with Stiles who is half dozing against him.

“Isaac asked me the other day why i want you to keep the baby so much.” Derek whispers to her in the dark, getting a hum of acknowledgement in return.

“I told him it was because i wanted you to be safe and happy. That i think in the long run, when we work past this, you would regret the decision you were making, and you wouldn’t be happy, or safe, and that’s all i want for you.” Her head moves sleepily against his chest, long hair tickling his neck.

“It was the truth, i do want you to be safe, and happy. You know i want that, right?” Stiles nods against him, shifting her head until her wide eyes were looking up at him, still shrouded in sleep.

“But it wasn’t the whole truth?” She whispers back into the dark. He’s so glad her voice is void of judgement, just curiosity that she has missed and a desire to know what’s going on inside of his head.

“No, not the whole truth.” Derek blinks away tears at the memories forming in his head, looking across at the wall behind Stiles’ head instead of her eyes.

“In the house, the day of the fire, there was my mom and dad. Peter, his wife Hannah and their son Daniel. My aunt Amelia, and my elder sister Julia and her husband Micah. They were celebrating, a big family thing, waiting for Laura and I to come home from school.” His voice is raw, and thick, words fighting to get past the lump of emotion and memory lodged inside his throat.

“What were you celebrating?” Stiles murmurs, warm breath brushing over his neck, eyes still transfixed on his face. He can’t bring himself to look down at her.

“Julia and Micah... they’d been trying for years, since they got married. All they wanted was a baby, and when i first.. with Kate. It was only about a week later they announced they had finally gotten pregnant.” Derek swallows hard. “She was fourteen weeks pregnant when they first told us, and she was five weeks away from her due date when the house burnt down.” Stiles stills against him, one hand over his chest, the other tightening its familiar, grounding hold on his wrist.

“Derek..” Her voice is soft, full of an emotion he can’t quite identify.

“They were celebrating,” He continues, “Because the baby had finally lay so that they could find out what they were having. We were excited, Laura and i were rushing home to see them, but the police and the fire department were already there and.. I’ll never know now, whether i was getting a niece or a nephew.” Derek finishes quietly, hand moving to cup the back of her head, stroking his fingers through her hair so softly.

“Oh.” Stiles breathes out, shuddering against him. He finally looks back down at her, raises his hand, the one with her fingers wrapped around his wrist, and brushes away the tears that have spilled on her face.

“I see Julia, in you. You remind me so much of her, your humour, and your intellect, and the way you mother us all.” Derek leans down and presses a kiss against the soft hair on her hair, turns his face sideways to lay his cheek against her, cradling her against him.

“You’ll make a great mom, Stiles. I want to see you do it, because i never got to see Julia get her chance.”

“Thank you.” Stiles replies, voice shaking in time with the small vibrations of the muscles under her skin. She turns her face into his chest, drying her tears on his shirt. Derek nods against her, presses another kiss against her hair and pulls her in so close it feels like they might never separate, but that’s okay. If he can keep her this close, he’ll never be able to lose her too.


	17. Road to Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for how long it has taken me to update this other than we finally figured out why I've been getting sick and treatment started taking up my time. Therefore, this chapter is almost double the last one and took a while to write because I wanted to get Papa Stilinski right. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

John is lost.

Not in the literal sense, not like he’s stumbling through the woods without direction.

Although sometimes these days it feels like that.

Every time he closes his eyes he see’s the face of his daughter laid out on Derek Hale’s sofa, or bleeding in his arms outside another pack’s house. He see’s the men he and Derek murdered in the basement of a hunter’s house. That one he gets some kind of sick pleasure from.

The others just make him sick.

Stiles is bright, brilliant, and now she’s broken. He has no idea what to do with this version of Stiles. Curled up in Derek’s bed with her fingers twitching at her sides like she wants to touch her stomach, and a look of confusion on her face.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks her, thankful that at least he hasn’t had a drink this morning. He hasn’t been around for almost a week after Stiles got out of the hospital. Told Derek to take her back to the house in the woods, that he would come to them. Because he’s a coward who hides behind a bottle whenever something goes wrong and expects his daughter to deal with the consequences by herself.

He hates himself, more than a little bit, because although he knows that he isn’t willing to change it.

“I don’t know what to do.” Stiles is a shadow of herself. Too thin, too quiet, too scared. Derek tells him there has been one day she left the bedroom for anything other than the bathroom, but no more than that. Stiles has confined herself to this one room, this one life, a future with a baby he’s not sure she wants and a pack that doesn’t know how to make it better.

“What don’t you know?” He lifts the glass of water from the nightstand, holds it to Stiles mouth so that she can take a sip while she considers her answer. That’s what the pack are working on at the moment, getting her to consume enough nutrients for her and the baby to survive. He’s not sure she even wants to.

“I don’t want it to be a girl.” Once, John had dreamed about grandchildren, about a little boy to play football with and a little girl who he could spoil with dresses and barbies and tea parties.

He wants it to be a girl, actually.

“Why not?” John asks, because guessing Stiles’ thought processes never creates a correct answer in his head. He watches as his daughter rolls to her side on the bed, curls in on herself a little and looks at him with such terrified confusion. He’s reminded of when her mother gave birth to Stiles when they’d been expecting a boy.

“I’m not exactly a good role model, y’know?” He doesn’t know. Stiles is the single best person he could imagine to raise a child, if the situation were right.

“I put myself in life threatening situations, i run with wolves. I don’t know how to be a girl, how to be polite and gentle and _female_. I would give up everything for this pack.” Stiles tells him in a quiet voice, now she’s staring at the door like aforementioned pack will be right outside.

Maybe they are.

“I would give everything for this pack, but i wouldn’t bring a daughter into it knowing they’d be small and fragile and human like i am. Knowing that they could be.. that what happened to me could happen to them.”

“Stiles-“

“But i don’t want it to be a boy, either.” Stiles plunders on like John hadn’t spoken and he’s glad, because he has no idea what he was about to say.

“I don’t want it to be a boy either because it’s one of theirs, and they say that criminal behaviour can be genetic. I don’t want a boy that would take after whichever of those men conceived it.”

His heart is breaking. There is nothing he can do here.

“You’re straight out of gender options there, sweetheart.” Stiles give him a rare- oh so rare- flicker of a smile as she looks up at him. John takes a deep breath, leans forward to capture one of her hands between both of his.

“Deaton says you have about two or three weeks before the spark starts to build back up again. If you- Stiles, if you don’t want this baby you need to tell us now, before it’s too late.” Her free hand moves, fingers tracing over the tiny swelling at her stomach, much too small for the amount of time she’s had a child growing inside of her.

“I want it.” Stiles tells him, splaying her hand over her stomach and closing her eyes. “I’m just scared.”

“That’s okay. Everyone gets scared.” John presses a kiss to his daughter’s hand, holding it tightly still as her breathing begins to even out and the small noises she makes as she is falling asleep can be heard.

Isaac comes into the room a moment later like he has been waiting for those sounds, climbing into the bed beside Stiles. He doesn’t touch her, just lays there, like he knows sometime soon he’s going to be needed and that he will be more use than John will.

It hurts something deep inside, where the promises he made to his wife are kept, that John can’t be the one to help Stiles through the nightmares.

Isaac smiles at him a little, nervous still that John will be angry at him helping Stiles get away to Verne’s pack. If anything, John is grateful for Isaac going with her. He isn’t sure Stiles would have come out alive if he hadn’t.

“Where’s Derek?” John whispers at Isaac, letting go of Stiles’ hand gently to place it down on the bed, dragging the sheet she had kicked down back over her and smoothing it out. Just for a moment, he allows himself to remember doing things like this for her when she was young, innocent, happy. He pulls away a moment later, reminding himself harshly that Stiles will never be innocent again, and it’s been a long time since she’s been ‘young’. And happy?

Happy probably won’t exist in Stiles’ life for a long, long time now.

“Kitchen. He’s going to try fruit pieces with Stiles tonight.”

Fruit pieces. Stiles was a little over two years old when she first hit her obsession with pieces of apple and strawberry.

John just nods at Isaac, spares one last look at Stiles and tries to commit to memory the calm look on her face as she slips into a sleep that will probably be pulled apart with nightmares by the time he gets home.

He leaves before the pain in his chest gets any worse.

Derek is wielding a irrationally large and very sharp knife and glaring at a punnet of strawberries like they’ve personally offended him.

“She likes them quartered with exactly one and a half table spoons of sugar per six strawberries.” Derek chokes on a laugh and drops his knife with a sigh.

“How’d she figure out those exact preferences?” Derek turns a gives him a half-smile half-grimace.

“They were all her mom would eat when she was sick, they had plenty of practice figuring out what made them the best.” Derek nods and turns back around, gathering up his knife and choosing six strawberries out of the box. The rest will go back in the refrigerator, John knows, because Stiles won’t eat anything more than that right now.

“How’s she doing?” The kid asks, slicing the berries precisely. There is a moment John thinks Derek will slice too close to his thumb, but it misses narrowly.

“You’d know better, this is the first i’ve been around since she got home.” Because home is the Hale house, for Stiles now at least. Derek shrugs, and John can only imagine the carefully schooled expression on the kids face.

“She’s a bitter mix of pain, confusion and terror. The entire house smells like it, but there’s something underneath it that smells sweet and innocent. I’ve only been able to smell it since she came home. I think it’s the baby, and i think that means she really does want it.”  

“Okay.”

That’s all the conversation John can stand today, turning on his heels and all but running out of the house. He had to go back to work tonight anyway, and that would be his reason for leaving without even waiting for Stiles to wake up to say goodbye.

* * *

Derek understands the lingering scent of whiskey and frustration on the Sheriff, he really does. But when Stiles rolls over carefully and nestles as tightly as she can into his side, smelling like sadness and regret he can’t fathom why what was such a magnificent father could almost abandon his daughter to a pack of wolves at the worst point in her life.

“He doesn’t love me anymore, does he?” Stiles whispers into his shoulder, cold nose pressed against his collarbone and the salty taste of bitterness tainting the already hard to breathe air around her.

“Of course he does, Stiles.” Derek whispers back into her hair, burying his nose into the sweetest part of her scent, moving around until he finds the scent he thinks is the babies.

“He’s confused, and he’s angry at what happened, but he loves you. He will always love you no matter what, he’s your dad.” Her breathe brushes across the exposed skin of his neck as she sighs.

“Sometimes-“ Stiles mumbles, long after he thinks she’s drifting towards sleep. “Sometimes i think i must have screwed up really bad, and that everything that’s happened it just karma. That’s it’s my fault.”

“No.” Derek uses his hand, tilts her chin up until she’s looking at him with glassy, distant eyes. “Don’t you ever think that, okay? What happened to you, what you did for us? We can never repay you, we can never make it up to you, but you did it for the right reasons and those men took advantage of you. It was never your fault. Okay? It never will be.”

It’s a recurring desire, the desperate need to have those vile men in front of him so that he can rip them apart piece by piece all over again. He wants to hunt down Gerard and kill him once and for all, for giving those men the orders to touch Stiles in the first place.

Silence descends over them again, but Derek is under no illusions of Stiles going to sleep. Every so often her fingers will curl tighter in his shirt, or she’ll whimper at a pain and Derek will have to pull those dark lines through his veins and take her pain for himself. There is clearly something else on her mind, because as much as she has nightmares and often declares a hatred for the vulnerability sleep causes, she always falls asleep when Derek has his nose buried in her hair and she has her free hand pressed over one of his steady pulse points.

“Will you still want me-“ Stiles swallows audibly, drops her hand to her stomach to trace the tiny bump swelling between the too-sharp protrusion of her hips, beneath the too-visible outline of her ribs.

“Will you still want us, after? When it’s born, and i’m changed and a mom and probably more scared? How can you even want me now? I don’t understand, Derek.” Derek rolls them softly, turns so that she is lying on her back and he is half beside her, half above her and she isn’t taking any of his weight. Her heartbeat stutters, a sudden look of fear flickers over her face but a moment later the glassy look in her eyes leaves and Stiles is right there beneath him, more trustful, more safe than he’s felt her in what feels like so long.

“I have never, ever wanted someone the way i want you. Okay? Nothing that has happened has changed that, and nothing will. You and the baby, and the rest of this pack, you’re what my life revolves around.”

“Derek-“

“I love you, alright. I love you so much.”

The words want to stick in his throat. This kind of vulnerability got his entire family killed, but he knows that Stiles wouldn’t do that to him. If she can trust him; male, strong, dominant above her then he can trust her with his deepest feelings, the reason he will stick around with her and a baby that isn’t his biologically but he hopes will be in everything else.

Stiles is gasping a little beneath him, tears in her eyes, and he wants to kiss her so much but he knows he has to wait for her to make the move. He doesn’t want to scare her, or push her, and he wants her to love him back, even if she can’t say it to him yet.

It feels like forever, as he scents the confusion, the fear, the hope, the tinge of happiness coming from her before she sneaks a hand up behind his head and meets him halfway in the softest kiss. Just a chaste press of mouths before she pulls away and he rolls back to her side so she can curl into him as much as possible with her injuries. Just like they were before Stiles voiced her concerns.

“I can’t say it, not yet, i don’t know when. But you know, right?” He does, he can smell it mixing in with the scent of child coming from her, like he’s been accepted into the only happiness she has right now even if she is confused the most about those parts of her life right now.

“I know.” He whispers back into her hair, holding her gently.

“It’s okay. I know.”

* * *

Derek leaves Stiles in the capable hands of Isaac and Danny the next day, stashed away in his bedroom just like every day. Although, something was different this morning, a little bit lighter. It’s been the first time since they brought her back that Stiles has greeted him with a smile and a tiny press of her lips at the corner of his mouth instead of glassy eyes and the scent of terror.

They have a prearranged meeting with Scott and the Argents, and he knows they’re hoping to cement a more secure treaty and talk about Scott’s re-admission to the pack. It’ll be a long day, frustrating probably, but he knows somewhere inside in the places that Stiles isn’t even thinking about right now, she misses the boy that’s been her best friend since third grade.

Erica and Boyd both have family commitments today, a piece of their life in which Derek encourages. He knows exactly how important every second of time with the people you care about it. So he takes Jackson, as a beta representative, and Lydia because, well, Lydia. No one likes crossing her, and he’s never seen her loose an argument or accept something in an agreement that she doesn’t want. And he knows now that she has the best interests of not only Stiles, herself and Jackson at heart, but also that of the rest of the pack. The commitment she showed during the Alpha Pack fiasco proved as much.

“How is she?” Scott asks the moment everyone is seated around the Argent’s breakfast bar. He’s twitchy stood to the side of Allison with a remarkably good puppy dog face.

“Terrified, hurt, pregnant.” Lydia spits at him, buried into Jackson’s side like he’s the only thing restraining her right now. Maybe he is, but that’s not exactly an endorsement given that Derek can smell Jackson’s anger at Scott rolling off him in waves. They watch as Scott drops his head, as Allison hides her expression in her coffee cup.

“Scott and Allison would like to apologise to Stiles, properly, and go about being accepted back into the pack.”Jackson growls lowly under his breath and Chris reaches for the gun at his belt reflexively until Allison nudges him and Lydia pinches Jackson in the side so he stops.

“We’ll have to talk to Stiles about seeing you both.” Derek nods at the teens stood sheepishly at the side. “I think maybe distance is better right now, but i’m willing to retract your expulsion from the pack if you’re willing to drop back down to the bottom of the food chain.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Allison asks meekly as Chris sighs and nods once.

“It means that Scott doesn’t deserve to be first, second or third to me. He answers to all other wolves and has no authority over them. And you are going to have to work your way back into the pack bond if you want to be accepted. And neither of you come anywhere near the house, or Stiles, unless she tells you that you can. Do you understand?”

Stiles might be doing better now, but Derek isn’t going to take risks. The last time Scott attempted an apology with Stiles her latent magic triggered, they ended up finding out she was pregnant and Stiles almost decided to kill herself. They didn’t need anything remotely close to that happening again.

Both the teens nod, flushed with embarrassment and guilt. Derek’s wolf rumbles under the surface, angry at the rational human side of his personality that knows they should be allowed a second chance at pack life.

“That doesn’t mean any of us trust you, or that you will ever be forgiven for choosing yourselves over a pack mate. You get that?” Jackson growls out, arm tightening around Lydia as she runs a hand down his chest soothingly.

“They understand.” Chris answers verbally for them, as neither of them seem able to do much more than stand there not making eye contact.

“Now, about the treaty-“

* * *

Stiles is not where Derek expects her to be when they get home.

She is sitting in the kitchen with a hand wrapped around Isaac’s wrist as they watch Danny trying to juggle two oranges and a kiwi without dropping them.

Stiles is laughing.

It feels like forever and day since he heard her laugh. Honest and true, tinged with happiness and relaxation like he hasn’t smelt from her or any of the pack in such a long time.

There is an empty plate and a glass of orange juice beside it in front of Stiles, and she smells healthier than he remembers from this morning. The fact that it means she’s eaten, that she’s actually gotten something in her stomach, managed to come downstairs and laugh at the antics of their pack, makes a swelling of relief and pride gather in his stomach as he, Lydia and Jackson observe them from the kitchen doorway.

“Oh, Derek!” Danny fumbles with the fruit he’s throwing, as Stiles turns in her seat to look at him and grace him with a tiny smile and a blush across her prominent cheekbones.

“You can clean up the splattered kiwi all over my floor now, Danny.” Derek snorts, moving forward to crouch beside Stiles with a small smile of his own.

“Hey.” Stiles is still blushing, cheek coloured pale pink in a way they haven’t since even before Gerard picked apart her life. He can hardly resist touching it, brushing a finger lightly over her skin to feel the pure lifeblood flowing beneath and reminding himself once again that he didn’t completely fuck up. That she is alive, recovering, here with him right now and _smiling_.

“Hey yourself.” Derek smiles back, ignoring the way Lydia and Jackson are herding Danny and Isaac out of the room with their own gentle smiles and the scent of relief and happiness surrounding them.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks, standing and moving so that he’s sat in the chair opposite in, grinning at her pout as he steals her orange juice to sip from. Stiles shrugs at him gently, still so mindful of her injuries even though he knows both he and Isaac have drawn the pain out of her today.

“I feel- i don’t know. Lighter, i think? Does that make sense? When i woke up this morning i was scared of the nightmares or that my dad hated me or that you’d leave me. I think yesterday helped, it finally got through. I’m not better, i’m still terrified of what’s happening. We still need to figure out the magic thing when it comes back, there is so much going on, but i think it seems a little easier to deal with now.”

Derek couldn’t help but let his grin widen, not only at Stiles’ words but at the typical spew of words that had disappeared from his life. The flow and ebb, rise and fall of Stiles voice and the slight hitch in her breathing when she was speaking too fast. The sheer emotion and passion she puts behind each word.

Stiles seemed to register the amount of words that had just flown from her, more maybe than he’s heard at one time since the attacks, and she blushes that lovely pale pink across her cheeks again, spreading down the sides of her neck as he chuckles.

“So, how’d the meeting go?” Stiles asks over-enthusiastically, attempting to divert attention. It works, only because Derek needs to talk to her about Scott and Allison’s admission to the pack and her wants when it comes to seeing them again.

He decides to leave that for now though. Spoiling Stiles’ rare good mood, her freedom and her happiness, seems like a kind of blasphemy. They deserve this right now. Stiles fed, more relaxed, safe and alive and recovering. So he’ll leave it for another day.

“It went good, i think. There are some things to talk about, hash out and work through the kinks, but good overall.” Stiles nods at him, embarrassed flush, much to Derek’s disappointment, fading away into paleness again. The smell of rushing blood fades a little and he gains pleasure from the smell of Stiles, of his clothes on her, of the pack around her and the underlying sweetness of the baby she’s carrying.

“Okay, good.” Stiles smiles at him, tugging at the bottom of the shirt she’s wearing; one of Derek’s, he notices. “So i was wondering, now that the pack are out for a while. Good job on the room clearing, by the way, do you wanna- i don’t know. Just watch a movie or something? Like the old pack nights but just us? You don’t have to, it’s just been a while and now i’m out of the bedroom...” She trails off as he stands, rounding the table to stand next to her and help her stand from the chair, still shaky on her feet. Slowly, as always, he leans forwards and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I’d love to.” She smiles up at him, bright and almost-innocent. Close to the way she used to be, but not quite.

Derek isn’t deluded enough to believe they’ll ever get back the old Stiles, not that innocent, naive, wide eyed girl who wanted to trust in everything. But this is good too, this Stiles that woke up this morning and thought that maybe life was worth being excited for, happy about.

So for now he’ll watch movies with her on her good day and be happy as she is about it.  


	18. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this took four months to write, and I am so sorry. If any of you follow me on tumblr (aconitum-palmatum) you will know I have been recently diagnosed with a chronic illness and I've been finding it difficult to cope. I lost my muse, and this is the first thing for this I've been able to write in a long time. 
> 
> I only hope it doesn't suck too much.

It’s like fresh air, listening to Stiles laugh. Sometimes, it’s hidden behind a hand, or muffled as she turns her head towards her shoulder. Sometimes, when Jackson makes sarcastic comments at episodes of Supernatural or re-enacts scenes from New Girl her laughter will be a loud burst from somewhere inside of her chest that has them all pause and listen just for a second. Because it’s been so long. So fucking long since Stiles has been free enough, happy enough, _alive_ enough to laugh at all.  It feels like something new, something amazing that you kind of want to believe in, want to hope that it won’t shatter because all you want to do is cling to it and hold on to it and pray that it’s there for good.

The ratio of days inside of the bedroom to days outside of the bedroom still lean heavily in favour of the first, but every time Stiles wakes up on a morning and tells them that she wants to help make breakfast that morning is like sweet relief all over again.

Derek still hasn’t told her about Scott and Allison, but he just wants to treasure this feeling for a little bit longer, because he knows that one thing or another is going to push them back two steps even though they’ve only just taken one forward, and he will do anything to put that kind of pain and disappointment away for as long as possible.

So it’s just his luck that Deaton turns up at the house looking faintly flustered five days after Stiles made her first venture out of the bedroom, since she laughed at Danny juggling fruit and leaned into Isaac to eat a sandwich. He paces through the house like he owns it, finds Stiles looking faintly nauseated, clinging to the edge of the kitchen sink like it’s the only thing holding her up. Derek had left her alone for maybe two minutes, tops. She was fine just moments ago.

“Stiles?” Deaton uses the voice that Derek recognises as the ‘victim voice’. Soft, gentle and inquiring. Derek pauses beside him, watches Stiles back as she refuses to turn to them, heaving in breaths like it’s painful.

“You said i had more time!” Stiles wheezes out. Derek can see her trembling. “You said it wouldn’t come back this quickly.”

“Untamed magic is unreliable at best, Stiles. Please, come sit down so that we can talk about this.” Deaton takes a step towards her, even though she can’t see him, but even Derek can feel in the tickle of energy in the room that she felt it, that it’s a bad idea to get any closer.

“I don’t want to talk.” Stiles whimpers. There is ringing in Derek’s ears, the smell of ozone similar to after a strike of lightening, like a storm building right in the middle of his kitchen. “I don’t want to talk. I want you to make it go away.” He can smell her tears just underneath all of the other confusing smells coming from her, the scent of magic masking what he usually associates with Stiles.

“Stiles-“ The victim voice is still strong, as Deaton takes another step towards her, one hand half way outstretched as if to touch her. Derek knows how she’ll react to that, the flinch, the momentary terror, the possible flashback. He doesn’t want that, but he knows that if anyone, Deaton needs to be the one to get close to her right now. As much as it pains him, he knows little to nothing about mage’s, sparks, or their brand of magic.

“Stiles, i know it feels overwhelming, but i can’t help you unless you let me, okay? Tell me how you’re feeling right now?”

“Sick.” Stiles sobs out. “Sick, and strong, and full, and so cold. It’s so cold.” He wants to lift her hand to his chest, press her palm over his heart and let her slow down to its steady beat, feel his preternatural warmth from beneath his shirt. But he can’t, and she’s still trembling, and things are spiralling once again into something he doesn’t know how to make better or fix.

“The spark is a manifestation of yourself, Stiles. It’s only so cold and overpowering because you’re looking at it like something you can’t control, something foreign inside of you. Stop looking at it that way.”

Stiles turns unexpectedly, face drawn and pale. There is something in her eyes that is not her, like fork lightening and dangerous power and she doesn’t even register as Stiles like this. Derek’s head is swimming, trying to find his Stiles inside of this sudden, new version. This wasn’t supposed to happen, the magic wasn’t supposed to come back yet, and definitely not like this. He can see terror warring with power in the lines of her face, the set of her shoulders, and he’s scared. It’s not something he’s going to admit, but he recalls the way Stiles’ pulse had dropped and her breathing became laboured the last time Stiles’ magic kicked in without warning, when she had argued with Scott. The night they found out about the baby growing inside of her.

He’s scared because he could lose her, and he’s terrified of all the things he hasn’t gotten to tell her and show her, because she’s young and she has people that love her and somewhere deep inside of himself he knows that this moment is her make or break. Either she changes the magic or the magic changes her.

“I don’t know how! It’s never been anything but overwhelming for me. I don’t know, please.” He can scent her fear, feels like he could drag his hand through the tangible feel of it in the air around them.

“I need you to concentrate for me, okay?” Deaton asks, repeats once, twice, until Stiles nods her agreement. “Okay, i can feel you pulling at me, your desire right now is for help, for it to stop, and you think i’m the one to do that. I want you to feel that connection you’re trying to form with me. Can you feel it?”

Derek watches as she struggles, eyes clenched closed, fists pressed tightly to her sides, her body is folded in pain and in fear.

“I can feel it.” Stiles whispers. “What are you? Its- you’re different. Different from me?”

“Yes.” Deaton nods even though she can’t see him. “I’m not what you are, but i’ll tell you about that later. What i need you to do right now is stop pulling at me. Feel along that line of connection and pull it back, snap it, picture a pair of scissors and cut it if you have to.”

“I don’t want to. You’re calm, please, don’t make me. You’re so calm.” Derek watches warily as Deaton closes the space between them, reaches out even though she can’t see him. It’s like driving past a car accident, you don’t want to look but you feel drawn to it, you have to. The reaction is instant once Deaton gets a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. She pushes him away with her hands until he’s forced to pull back, stumbles back a step herself until she hits the bottom of her back against the kitchen counter, and then the screaming starts. Loud and piercing, the scent of ozone increasing with the fear of whatever flashback she’s having, whatever she is seeing, it’s building in power surrounding her.

“Deaton!” Derek snaps, he wants to go to her, find a way to bring her back, but there is something else happening, the thick, heavy feeling of magic is almost suffocating. The other man spares Derek a glance, but doesn’t look worried. He never looks worried, but there isn’t even a flicker of panic this time.

“She’s got to get rid of this extra build up, Derek. Don’t worry, give her a minute.”

“Stiles is having a flashback right now! How do we just stand here and watch that?” Deaton shakes his head.

“That isn’t a flashback. Stiles wouldn’t break her attachment to me by herself, she was pulling at a part of me that is very controlled, so i broke it myself when i touched her. It was a moment of being too overwhelmed, but it’s good. If she pulls back from this, i can get her to feel it differently.”

Derek is frozen, waiting, faintly hopeful and a lot more worried as the pressure reaches its crescendo. Stiles has stopped screaming, eyes opening wider and wider as she struggles to draw her breath, and it’s suddenly like the moment before a symphony starts, the anticipation, that loaded moment of silence.

And then she lets it go.

It doesn’t hurt the humans in the room, the wave of magic so much stronger than the first time this happened, but it feels like something tangible as the shock of it washes over him. Like cold water and pin pricks covering his body for a moment. Faintly, on the edge of his periphery, he thinks he hears the sound of glass splintering, of car alarms outside, there is the sense of the lights flickering overhead and all he can concentrate on is the way Stiles is suddenly more.

Derek thinks that this is something that shouldn’t be able to lay dormant inside of someone. It’s too big a power, too much, to hide inside of a human who up to now has used wit and sarcasm as their only defence. He also thinks that, of course this was inside of her all along. He knew, the moment he met her really, that she was more than people saw, of course she was, who else fights side by side with wolves and survives the way she has.

The power builds and builds and builds in the room, the scent of ozone growing until it’s all he can smell, and then suddenly it’s gone. He can breathe again, he can concentrate again, and Stiles is on her knees and panting heavily before them.

“Stiles-“ Derek ventures forward a little. “How do you feel?” A hysterical giggle bursts forth from Stiles, her head lifting until she meets his eyes. There’s still something behind them, something other, something new, but it’s not as it was before, like an extension of her, not something foreign inside of her.

“I feel-“ Stiles gasps, eyes wide, hands pressed against the space between her little bump and her chest like she can feel something new there. “I feel...No, i don’t feel anything new. I feel like, this is it. This is the part that i never knew i was missing. Like i’m not vulnerable anymore.”

Derek crouches beside her, letting relief mingle with his disbelief and his residual fear of what had happened, and smiles softly at her. He’s trying to ignore Deaton behind him, silent and confusing as usual, because he needs to get Stiles up off this floor. She’s still healing, from broken ribs, stab wounds, the life that was taken from her. He needs to make sure she’s okay this time, at least, that he didn’t let anything bad happen to her under his direct watch.

“That’s really good. How about we go into the sitting room so that we can figure this out, alright?” Stiles nods, lets Derek wrap an arm around her and lift her gently, Deaton following behind them quietly. He’s thankful at least that the pack are out, Isaac and Danny with the Sheriff, the others taking a well deserved break at the pond out in the preserve.

They settle into the sofa, Stiles pulling her usual blanket down and over herself, wrapping it around like a protective cocoon, Derek settling in beside her and laying out his arm so that his wrist is available for the familiar feeling of Stiles’ fingers resting against it, measuring herself to time with him. Deaton takes the seat to the left of them, the same Scott had taken the last time he was in the house, and Derek is momentarily reminded that he still hasn’t asked Stiles about Scott and Allison’s reinstatements to the pack. It’ll have to wait for a while longer now.

“You.” Stiles tilts her head to the side to look at Derek, eyes widening, and then narrowing, gripping his wrist tighter. “I can feel- do you- is there something you haven’t told me?” Derek feels himself stiffen, his own eyes widening, and wonders how the hell Stiles knew that. A glance at Deaton shows his usual annoyingly blank stare, but Derek can hear a slight uptick in the man’s heart rate that is unusual. Stiles doesn’t even wait for him to answer, squeezing his wrist and looking at him imploringly.

“You are.” She accuses. “Tell me. Whatever it is, you need to tell me.” Derek clears his throat, tries to take stock of her heart rate and finds it unusually stable for Stiles. The fact that she is still holding his wrist even with it no longer in use has something inside of him grow warm for a second.

“It’s about Scott and Allison, a decision that was made at the meeting the other day. We didn’t want to upset you, or trigger another magical episode.” Stiles snorts lightly, but her grip on him loosens until she’s just holding him again.

“What about Scott and Allison?” Stiles still looks fairly calm, if somewhat dishevelled and suspicious, but Derek hears the way her voice tightens over their names, feels the tension in her muscles next to him.

“They’ve been- not reinstated- but they’re back in the pack.” Stiles sucks in a breath, pulls her hand away from him and Derek feels the loss keenly. “They won’t come here until you’re ready. You never have to see them again if you don’t want, but it’s the only way to keep them safe. Without pack Scott’s an omega, and i know you don’t trust him, them, but he would be in danger if we hadn’t brought them back.” Stiles sinks back against the chair and Derek knows he can relax a little.

“Okay.” Stiles whispers almost to herself, nodding along, before she turns her attentions back to Deaton.

“How did i know what he was thinking? Well, not thinking, but feeling at least.” Deaton leans forward, elbows balanced on his knees as he looks at Stiles.

“Your magic develops and adapts to what you require most at the moment of its use. I would think that, after the attacks, some of your base desires would be to know how others feel around or towards you. To ward off people who would wish to cause you harm.”

“Will she develop other abilities to protect herself too?” Stiles glanced between Derek and Deaton, glad that she had someone here who she knew, even without this new ability, had her best interests at heart.  Deaton just shrugged without any emotion as per usual.

“It’s possible, if it’s an actual base desire. Usually, they’re unconscious thoughts, and if one of her unconscious thoughts is to have a physical way to protect herself, then yes it will develop. However, once the base desire leaves, it may take the ability with it.” They sat in silence for a while, Stiles letting her hand hover lightly over the small swell of her stomach. Derek took a moment to hone his senses, listen a little closer, searching for that tiny fast thrum of her child’s heartbeat and let the scent of new life flow over him. Maybe, the little flicker of hope inside of him let him think, this will be the new start they’ve been looking for. If Stiles can learn to control this, can feel protected and strong and herself, maybe they’ll get past this. Maybe Stiles will smile real smiles again. Maybe she will stop doubting herself, the baby, the people around her, the love she isn’t sure she deserves.

Maybe, magic will be on their side for once.

“I’m tired.” Stiles say’s suddenly, turning to face Derek. She does look tired, but he’s not sure if it’s more so than usual or he’d just stopped looking at the signs. Dark purple bruising circles under her eyes, tight lines around her mouth, body help with a cower rather than the confidence he had first seen in her.

“Okay.” It’s like they’ve forgotten Deaton is even in the room, the man sat back in his chair watching them so quietly. Derek shifts the blankets from over her lap to the back of the chair, helps her stand like always, because never mind this new sense of invulnerability she claims to feel, Stiles is still hurt, still recovering, still scared of her own shadow. He won’t let her fall again.

“Tomorrow i’ll come and we’ll start on training, Stiles.” Deaton calls as they make it to the doorway. Stiles turns to look over her shoulder, throws the man an unconvincing smile in which Deaton returns without hesitation.

“And you’ll need a pack member with you at all times until we have it under control, especially during training.”

“I’ll be with her.” Derek mutters back, wrapping himself more securely around Stiles when Deaton nods and they begin to make their way to the bedroom. Deaton is gone by the time Stiles has settled into the bed in her pajama’s, and Derek takes it as opportunity to climb in beside her even though it’s only five in the afternoon.

* * *

Stiles dozes against his chest for a couple of hours, tossing a little, waking whenever the pain got worse or before Derek could siphon it away into himself.

Sometimes, he thinks, it’s his own personal punishment. To feel the pain Stiles feels, to take it and hold it inside of himself, to let it wash over his very being for just that second before his body makes it go away. Thinks it’s punishment because if he had been the one hurt, used, violated, it wouldn’t have been anything new, anything he couldn’t have healed from and pushed down into that vault  where Kate lays, where Peter lays, where the death of his family lays.

Other times, he counts it as a blessing, that Stiles is still here. Stiles still wants him to touch her, a blessing in the way that he could have lost her in the way that she could have died, her very being could have been taken from him, but this way proof that she wasn’t. A blessing in the way that even if she survived, she could have left him, alone. He would have had pack, but what’s pack when what hold’s it together leaves them for good. This way, he thinks, he can see her, touch her, smell her. He can pay her back her sacrifice in these moments when he takes that pain and makes it less, makes it his.

When Stiles finally wakes up for real, the pack is home and watching movies quietly downstairs. Isaac and Lydia had come up to ask about the mess Stiles’ magic had caused, but he had shushed them and sent them away with promises to explain when Stiles was ready. He thinks they already know, the scent of ozone still lingers in the air.

She curls into his side, soft and warm but not content. Traces shapes over the prominent veins in his wrist so lightly that it makes him want to shiver.

“You’re so hard to read.” Stiles murmurs into his chest, mouth brushing over his shirt in the same whisper soft way her fingers are on his skin.

“What do you mean?” His voice is low and gentle, never harsh. Not anymore. Not with her.

“Before, you were hard to read anyway. You never really said what you mean, never really showed what you were feeling. It was hard back then, frustrating really, but now. It’s different, difficult.”Derek waits, because she has more to say. It’s something new with Stiles, as new as bringing her home anyway, the way she thinks before she speaks, before she moves, before she breathes deep and lets it out soft and low.

“Before, without this magic, inside of me, it was just body language, the way you spoke, the way your face would blank out whenever emotions came into play, but now. Now that i can feel you. Those emotions running underneath, inside.” She taps at his wrist, harder than tracing shapes but hardly a register on what it could have been, what it used to be.

“You’re so conflicted.” Stiles finally concludes, tilting her head up to look at him just as he has been looking down to her all this time.

“Does it not get tiring, hiding who you are, what you feel, all of the time?”

“Emotions get you killed.” Derek tells her, softly serious.

“Emotions save our lives. Emotions saved mine. Love, and safety, and pack. That doesn’t feel constant to you. Are you always lonely, always this conflicted?”

“For as long as i can remember.”

“Even about me?” Derek nods. Turns to his side so her arm is laid over his waist, one of his beneath her head and the other brushing fingers along the soft bruised skin of her cheek.

“Always about you.”

 


	19. Jackson

Training is nothing like what Derek expected. The way Deaton had been talking about control, he had thought they would be focusing on Stiles reining it in and locking down the way Deaton had with his.

That thought, he should have known, was terribly wrong. For one, Deaton still hadn’t explained the difference between himself and Stiles.

For another, Stiles needed a wolf with her at all times, and there are only so many reasons that could be for.

Over the past two weeks; Derek had been shocked, thrown, silenced and had his mind intruded on more times than he cares to remember. And that is not including the magic Stiles was doing by accident. She still had the, sometimes disturbing, ability to know the baseline of how someone was feeling and what they were thinking when it was in direct relation to her or the pack.

When her father had turned up the day after her magic had made itself known again, she had locked herself in the bathroom and cried for an hour until the sheriff had sighed out an apology and left. Stiles had managed to tell him later that night when she was curled between himself and Jackson, that her father was overwhelmed with guilt, with pain, with loss and anger and _disappointment_.

In some ways, Derek thought it was lucky that Stiles’ horrendous on again/off again morning sickness kicked in a couple of days later, because her father’s hidden feelings were put on the back burner for now.

So, he was thankful when two weeks in Deaton told Stiles they needed to switch up which were they where using.

Stiles had looked faintly sick, and not from the morning sickness. He could scent the underlying aroma of fear-panic-worry that translated into a ticklish pepper feeling in the back of his nose and sliding down his throat.

“You’re more comfortable with Derek than the others. We need to understand if it works this well because you’re settled around him, or if it will work with any of them.” Deaton had tried to explain while Derek lay his hand over hers in what he hoped was a comforting move. He was safe enough in their comfort with each other, or her sense of safety with him at least, that it would not be too much of an uncalculated risk to touch her when she was not at her best.

“W-what if it doesn’t work? And then it stops working with Derek and i get all-“ Stiles uses her free hand to mimic her head exploding, making a ‘ _whoosh_ ’ noise under her breath that has Derek trying to suppress a grin.

Deaton’s enigmatic smile remains, his posture relaxed and his thoughts must be calm and reassuring, because Stiles isn’t reacting badly.

“Then we’ll find another way to practice.” Stiles looks between them, and Derek would have thought she was looking for changes in body language if he couldn’t feel the increasingly familiar of probing along whatever it was inside him that projected feelings and thoughts. Eventually, she let out a deep sigh, all of them grateful that Stiles’ has healed up enough to take and release good deep breaths now, and nodded.

“Alright then.” She whistled out. “Who are we starting with? Are we setting up a rota?”

“How about we go with a new pack member each week? Starting working from those you trust the most down to those you trust the least?” They all look like they’re considering it, sharing glances with each other, Stiles’ fingers trailing over her stomach in an increasingly familiar movement whenever she is worried or concerned. Stiles has her gaze fixed on her lap when she eventually nods.

“It could work.” She mutters, mostly to herself, before she look up and between both Derek and Deaton with a tiny and nervous smile. “Yeah, okay.”

Derek lets out a little sigh, almost inaudible, but Stiles shoots him a slightly amused glare anyway.

“Wha’sa matter, sourwolf? All this magic a bit too much on your fragile wolfy ass?” She teases him, prompting Derek to let out a bark of surprised laugh. It’s not the same, he doesn’t think it will ever be the same; but hearing Stiles tease him, hearing her call him that stupid nickname with a tiny side smile gracing her mouth is like starting anew every time.

“I have to admit,” Derek gives Deaton a wry lopsided smile. “This is a little different than i was expecting when we decided on learning how to control the magic, but i guess i can deal with it for the next few days until we figure out an arrangement.”

Deaton hums, calm smile and all, and then gets back to business. They’re trying to determine how far Stiles’ need to protect herself extends, whether it is just the ability to read people like an open book or whether she has physical capabilities to go along with it. Up to now, all Derek had learnt was that Stiles wasn’t afraid of him even when he was trying his hardest to send predator-anger-pain signals her way.

Mostly, he thought about the people that had touched Stiles, about Kate, about Peter.

Maybe, he just couldn’t tell Stiles in any way that he was a danger to her, because he never was and never could be.

Sure, she had gotten a few sharp charges to run through him. Had tossed him spectacularly into a tree when he’d moved a hand too fast and too close when trying to catch a bottle of water Isaac had thrown to him.

There was also the frankly amusing time she had made it feel like his mouth was full of marshmallows that he couldn’t talk around, a feeling that didn’t go away until Deaton interfered and pulled away the string of magic connecting Stiles’ ability to silence away from Derek.

“Okay,” Deaton interrupted Derek’s thoughts. “How about you think of how you felt when you first found out your mom was sick, Stiles? I want you to imagine that Derek is what you imagined the cancer cells to be at the time, and attempt to stop them from progressing any further.”

Stiles spared Derek a glance out of the corner of her eye, giving him a watery attempt at a smile before she closed her eyes and started to concentrate. This part was familiar, the thickening of the air around them, the stronger scent of recently struck lightening invading his senses. Stiles gathering her magic around her could be described as a beautiful thing. The way her shoulders straighten and her skin almost glows, like she’s strong and invulnerable and whole.

The first indication he got that something was happening was the sudden flush of heat through his body, starting in his stomach and then branching outwards like roots. He could feel it inside of him, gaining heat by the degree with each stretch inside of him.

Next came the feeling of bugs, crawling over his skin, spilling out from his ears and mouth and nose to scuttle along his body and they disappear like they were dropping off to the ground.

Derek had to fight not to scratch and claw at his skin, had to battle to remember that it was magic, an illusion. Stiles looked so lost inside of herself as she worked, eyes clenched closed, breathing harshly. If he paid close attention he could see the sheen of tears on her lash line and the clench of her fists against the concrete ground of the basement they were practicing in.

“Stiles-“ Derek reached out to press against the fabric covering his chest, can feel the heat growing and spreading intensely throughout him, radiating from his skin dangerously. His head becoming heavy, double vision blurring everything around him.

“Stiles, stop.” In the peripheral of his understanding, Derek can hear Deaton bark out at Stiles, can see his wavering hand reach out and cover Stiles’ eyes with his hand.

There is a moment of building tension, a sudden escalation of the heat inside of his chest, reaching up towards his throat, and he’s momentarily terrified that they’ve pushed her too far and she won’t come back.

Stiles sucks a gasp in, lets it out with a deep whine in the back of her throat, and scuttles backwards away from Derek and Deaton.

“I’m sorry! Oh my- Derek, i’m so sorry!” From where he had fallen backwards when the magic had released, he can see Stiles curling her knee’s up to her chest and burying her face into them. Deaton is sat beside him, calm broken, breathing deeply and slowly trying to calm his elevated heart beat.

As Derek struggles to sit back up so that he can reassure Stiles that he’s okay, that the pain is gone now, Stiles makes a different decision. He watches as she stands quickly, shaking out vertigo once she’s up right, and apologises once more before rushing out. Listening closely, he can hear her rushing past Isaac and Boyd in the kitchen and getting upstairs to lock herself in Jackson’s bedroom. He’s about to go after her, can hear the confused bumbling of his other pack members, but Deaton reaches out and puts a weirdly cool hand on his arm.

“Let her be.” It’s just loud enough that the others in the house can hear.

“But-“ Derek tries to shake off Deaton and stand, but vague dizziness has him back on his ass in seconds.

“Derek, stop. She’ll be okay, she isn’t using magic right now and you’d smell or hear anything worrying. Just give her some time.” Deaton stands effortlessly, much to Derek’s ire, and brushes dust and dirt from his knees. He holds out a hand to Derek, that he takes reluctantly, and steadies him with a hand on his elbow as Derek gets his wits about him again, shaking off the remaining effects of the magic and taking another second to listen intently to Stiles to reassure himself.

Feeling helpless, Derek turned his attention back to Deaton.

“What do we do now?” Calm back in place, Deaton just shrugged.

“Give her the weekend, i’ll come back on Monday and we can start again if Stiles is ready. None of this will work if she isn’t wanting to practice.” Deaton just turned, walking sedately up the stairs, bidding those upstairs goodbyes as Derek caught his breath leaning against a wall.

* * *

Jackson’s room was a different kind of safety than Derek’s. Before – before everything happened, Stiles had spent very little time in Derek’s bedroom. It had been his sanctuary, a place she knew he went when he needed time away. After, it had become the only place Stiles had felt she wouldn’t be approached, questioned, attacked.

This room, however, Stiles had spent a surprisingly large amount in. Once Jackson had decided to be part of the pack, to move past what had happened when he was the Kanima, he had needed something to anchor him to humanity. Something or someone that he could trust, talk to, someone that wasn’t Lydia.

Stiles had been weirdly happy when Jackson had taken to sitting with her when she was at the pack house without the others. When he’d come back from a run a little earlier than the others and watch crappy daytime TV with her. When he would make her a sandwich or grab her a drink when doing so for himself. It had been a while before he had started to speak, little things at first like asking for her help with the math homework or passing her a limited edition batman and blushing when he admitted he had read them all growing up. After that, they’d started grabbing lunch at the diner on the edge of town together. Jackson had come to her after he killed his first rabbit during a hunt, horrified with himself. He had been on the edge of tears as they sat in his room at the Hale house and he told her how hard it was to mix with the pack, when every time they sparred he got flashbacks to trying to kill them when under the control of abusive assholes.

So yeah, after all that time, these calm coloured walls and this cotton bed set were familiar to her, oddly comforting, a reminder of when things hadn’t been _quite_ so bad. The tiny grey teddy that was currently clutched to her chest was almost the last security blanket Stiles had in her life, smelling like Jackson and Lydia and so strongly of that pack that was deeply ingrained into her.

Stiles had heard other members of the pack come and go. Isaac and Danny swapping with Boyd and Erica when they came home, Derek swapping with them after that; all of them sitting outside of the locked door into Jackson’s room. She’s assuming one of them have called him to come back from spending the day at his family’s home with Lydia.

For some reason, she wants him to come back and curl up beside her. She wants him to read to her from books that other people, people outside of the pack that still looked at him as some self-centred jock, would believe out of his understanding. She wants him to lay his head in her lap and laugh with her at old episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

Stiles wants to be normal, just for a little while.

* * *

Jackson is sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers trailing lightly along her arm as she wakes up. Stiles gives him what she hopes is a smile as she shifts and moves until she is resting back against the headboard.

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing in my bed, Stilinski?” Jackson smirks at her, shifting himself so that he is leaning against the wall on a right angle to her, sitting cross-legged so that he doesn’t interrupt her space like he usually would. Stiles sighs, reaching forward to tug at the bottom of his jeans until he gets the idea and stretches them out over the top of her own legs.

“Memory foam mattress, Jacky-boy, where else would i go for my afternoon nap?” Jackson graces her with an amused smile but they both know her attempts at joking are falling flat. There isn’t the same enthusiasm, the same sparkle in her eyes.

“Anyway-“ Stiles coughs out, sneaking a glance over at the bedroom door, “How’d you even get in? I locked the door.” Sinking further down the wall and into the bed as he sighs, Jackson waits until only his shoulders and head are supported against the wall and he looks like a petulant twelve year old before replying.

“I had to break it. Not that it took much.” He shrugs as he looks at her. “It doesn’t matter, Derek said he’ll get it fixed tomorrow. And it didn’t cause too much of an issue. Hell, you slept through it happening.” Stiles can feel herself blushing, humming in reply and letting her fingers twitch nervously in the comforter that she had dragged over herself some time during her nap.  

“Hey.” With concerned eyes, Jackson reached out and untangled her fingers from the fabric. He seemed to consider what he was going to say or do before continuing.

“How about, i go and shoo the rest of them out for the day so they can’t interrupt us, make some popcorn, and we can watch whatever god-awful movie you like, huh?” Beneath them, Stiles could just about hear the quiet closing of the front door. Knowing that everybody had already filed out and that she could just relax and watch movies without magic or fear or pain helped to settle her mind and she nodded, gaining an honest smile from Jackson.

He climbed over her and off the bed carefully, throwing a wide arm gesture behind him and towards the wall of DVD’s as he went out of the door. Stiles stifled a laugh, crawling down the bed until she could sit off the edge at the end and consider the choices before her.

Jackson took his time coming back, but Stiles understood when he came through the door with his arms laden with food. An overflowing bowl of popcorn with two sandwiches balanced on top of it, two bags of chips on top of those, all crowed in the centre of his arms and cushioned in by four bottles of Gatorade. She just huffed out a laugh at him, making grabby hands in his direction until he deposited everything on the bed beside her and then climbed in and over again, settling down with his legs splayed sideways and his head resting on her thigh.

“Really, Stiles? Again?” Jackson mock glared at the television on his wall. Stiles laughed, dropping a handful of sweet popcorn onto his chest.

“Quiet, nairwolf, you love inaccurate werewolf movies just as much as i do.”

“But Teen Wolf? Really? It’s- well, horribly inaccurate isn’t even the word for it.”

“But you enjoy it anyway.” Before Jackson could reply, Stiles lifted half of a sandwich up, shoving it into his half-open mouth.

“Now shut up and watch.”


	20. Future

“What am i going to do about school?”

They had been sat watching a movie, all of them together for the first time in what felt like forever, when Stiles had wiggled irritably against Jackson’s side. She curled her legs up under herself, cross legged and facing the room at large, while Derek reached out and paused the film on screen.

“What do you mean?” Lydia is laid across Danny, Isaac’s head in her lap so that she can scratch gently at his scalp with her fingertips. Stiles throws her a withering look that Lydia returns until Stiles smiles, fingers twisting in the shirt covering her slightly swollen abdomen.

“I’m 17, Lyds. I’m 17, having a baby and almost always unable to leave this house. I had plans! What am i going to do now?” Jackson’s hand comes up to pull her into his side but Stiles shakes him off, glaring behind her. She’s so tired of being coddled, even if a lot of the time she needs it. Right now, she wants old Stiles back. Wants to be sarcastic and independent and _at school_. Jackson raises his hands with a smirk on his face, squishing himself back into the corner of the sofa.

“Teenage girls with babies go to school all of the time, Stiles. You don’t need to worry about that.” Danny pipes up, smiling his ridiculous dimpled smile at her from across the room. Stiles can’t bring herself to glare at him, instead she lets her mouth tip down at the corners into a frown, can feel the tense crease between her eyes before she takes a deep breath and counts to ten. One of the many exercises that Deaton had been teaching her to control her magic, her frustration and her fear.

“Beside the fact that i’m not your average teenage girl, i don’t think all of the staring and whispering that would go on behind my back would really help with the epic levels of paranoia and fear that has, until recently, kept me locked inside of this house.” Stiles’ voice gets high and agitated at the end, enough that even Erica and Boyd who are the furthest away from her right now can feel the pin prickle electricity of her magic beginning its slow build. She sees them shiver at him, can feel the change in the air as everyone tenses and gets ready to move or help. Instead, Stiles takes a deep breath, moves slowly so as to not startle any of her hyper-alert pack mates, and touches her hand down on the top of the wooden coffee table in front of her. Derek beside her lets out a breath, and in her peripheral she can see the tiny uptick of his mouth. It’s the proud smile; and she focuses’ on that as she channels the extra build up of energy through the table and grounds it into the foundations of the house.

“We got all the way out to Verne’s-“ Derek growls, low and threatening, to stop Isaac from talking. Even without looking at him, Stiles knows that Derek’s eyes have bled red, that his claws are digging into his thighs. Through her magic, she can feel his anguish and his fear over what happened when she left, she can feel his self-doubt and hatred, bi-products of his inability to stop it from happening. Without looking at him, Stiles reaches out a hand and lays it over one of his, tangling her fingers around the protruding points of his claws.

“That was different, i was – different. The school..” Stiles can’t look at them, gaze focused on her lap and the pattern of the bracelet she’s wearing.

“The school has a lot of bad memories for me, from before the- from before it happened, and during. I don’t think i can go back there. “

There is a heavy silence, much as she expected, that sits heavy on her chest. From around the room she can feel the conflicting emotions filling up her head. Anger. Upset. Rage. Sympathy. Pain. Understanding.

“You could swap schools, maybe? I’m sure your dad or Derek, maybe, could drive you to the next town over. Or, we could wait until you’re feeling better and you can start driving there yourself. You have options, Stiles, it’s not going to be too much of a problem.” Danny offers with a smile, fingertips tapping on his phone.

“You could get your GED.” Derek offers quietly, avoiding the gaze of his pack. His fingers play with Stiles’ where they are still intertwined, even if his claws have gone away again.

“When Laura and i moved to New York, i got my GED and went to college. Maybe you could take the online classes and then when you’re ready, you can go to college. Your plans don’t have to change.”

Everyone in the room snaps their attention to him, sitting back into the sofa like he’s trying to make himself smaller, gaze focused on Stiles fingers entwined with his.

“You went to college?” Erica blurts out, perplexed. She’s leaning forwards out of Boyd’s lap, his arm wrapped around her waist so she doesn’t flaceplant on the floor. Derek nods, ears growing red as he avoids everyone’s gaze.

“What did you study? _Where_ did you study?” Lydia had stilled her fingers in Isaac’s hair and she turned to look directly at Derek, who mumbled his answer under his breath. When everyone kept staring at him in silence, Derek’s blush spread pink to his cheeks.

“I studied comparative literature and society at Columbia.” Stiles spun, getting her knees beneath her, eyes wide as she stared at Derek who was watching her with open vulnerability.

“You went to _Columbia_?” Derek nodded, confounded. “You went to Columbia and studied lit and society and you didn’t tell me? You did it on a GED!” His blush reddened as he pulled his hands out of hers, twisting them uncomfortably in his lap. Stiles felt some of the excitement run out of her, could only just hear Jackson helping Lydia encourage everyone out of the room. The mood had changed; Stiles could feel it in her head like a more suffocating weight. Like the change of air pressure, making her want to shake the feeling from her ears.

“I never finished. When- Laura came back half way through my last year and a week later i followed her out. I went back, once, after i became Alpha so that i could clean out our apartment and defer for a year.” Stiles sighed, and the unfolded her knees so that she could lay out along the length of the sofa, twisting to the side to face Derek as she laid her head down against his thigh with a gentle sigh. It had taken them so long for Stiles to get comfortable with just _touching_ him, that this show of submissiveness was a huge jump in whatever was happening between them.

“You became the alpha, what, just under a year ago now? You could finish it Derek.” His fingers came down to her head, gentle, as he tugged the hair band holding up her pony tail. His fingertips only just grazed her scalp as he combed it out.

“No i couldn’t.” Derek sighed out. “I’d have to take the year again, and that means a year away from the pack and territory.” Stiles let herself get lost in the feeling of his fingers in her hair, the way his body shifted as he breathed; the flutter inside her stomach as the baby moved. She hummed contentedly, and Derek’s fingers stilled in her hair.

“Wha’sup?” She mumbled, eyes closed, pushing her head back into his hand until he started moving his fingers again.

“You’re not scared.” Stiles took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and shook her head a tiny fraction. “Since we got you back- since- y’know. You always smell like bitter lemons, like fear, pepper in the back of my nose, but it’s not- It’s gone. You’re not scared here anymore.”

“Mhm- s’cause i know i don’t have to be scared with you.” Stiles breathed out lazily, snuggling closer into him. His breath caught in his throat as he watched her, face relaxed. One of her hands was resting in the space between her chest and the still surprisingly small baby bump protruding from her abdomen. Her other was in the process of reaching wildly upwards until she reached one of his wrists, wrapping her long fingers around it and tugging it in until it was cradled so close to her face that he could feel her breath on his skin. Before he could find something to say in reply, Stiles finally settled properly and exhaled softly.

“Talk later.” She tapped her fingers against the pulse point in his wrist. “Nap time now.”

* * *

Since his wife died, John Stilinski has not been a good father. He knows it’s true, knows it to be fact even though Stiles has always acted like that was completely untrue. He’s lost count of the amount of times Stiles has pried a bottle from his hands, mostly because he can hardly remember half of them. He could count the amount of weekends he’s been home with her with his fingers and toes and possibly have a few left over.

But, now, he doesn’t know what kind of father he is.

John buries his head in his hands, ignoring the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him. All he could think of when he’d gone into the station today after a two week leave was that he’d _killed_ two people. He had been there when people tortured them, and then he had killed one of them himself after Derek Hale had killed the other.

What kind of father did that make him?

Was he redeemed, because he’d found a way that meant no one found out and judged Stiles for what she’d been through? That meant those monsters couldn’t hurt her or anyone else again? Or was he even more condemned, for leaving the knowledge of his crime in his daughters mind? Was he condemned for letting them anywhere near her in the first place, for not realising, for abandoning his morals to deal with it when he had the opportunity?

John Stilinski; Sheriff, father, widow and murder of rapists. Where was his line between good and evil? How could he have ever taught his daughter right and wrong when he resorted to murder when his little girl was hurt even though he had the literal force of the station behind him at all times?

His wife, precious and strong and beautiful, she would have known how to deal with this. Claudia would have known what was happening, probably would have known about the wolves the minute Stiles had known. She would have figured it out, kept their little girl safe. This would never have happened, if he’d still had her.

John Stilinski was a failure without his wife, and his little girl had paid the price for that.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see flashes of Claudia lying still and pale on a hospital bed mixed with the image of his baby girl bleeding and in pain in the Hale living room. Whenever he brushed past Stiles’ room on his way down the stairs, he thought he could hear the sounds of her tears and the screams that used to accompany the nightmares that he had given up on dealing with.

John hadn’t seen his daughter in coming up three weeks, since she had begun to develop her new _talents_ and had disappeared into the bathroom until he left. All he knew was that she could feel what he was feeling, and all of these bad things swirling around inside of him were too wrong for her to experience. He wished he had been given the chance to explain that they were directed at himself and the situation, not at her, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go back and expose himself to her like that again. Instead, he called once a day and hoped it would be good news so that he would have nothing to hate himself more for.

He knows that he needs to get the fuck over this. Needs to stop drinking and pull all of those bad and ugly emotions under lock and key in his mind, he needs to get back to his daughter. His injured, scared little girl who has only ever wanted her daddy to cuddle her when she’s sick and bring her chicken soup and Mr. Men books to read when she was snuggled under blankets new from the dryer. It had been such a long time since she’d had someone other than herself to look out for her. John can’t remember the last time he attempted Claudia’s recipe for sick soup. John knows, rationally, that the pack is looking after her now and that she couldn’t be any more safe, but he also knows that it isn’t the same. He had heard Isaac talking to Derek on the phone, hiding in the kitchen under the pretence of making coffee in order to give his alpha a report. He had heard the _‘no improvement’_ and _‘he doesn’t want to see her yet’_ and _‘give him some time, Derek’._

John knows his little girl wants him. That she needs him.

Taking a deep breath, he lifts his head and reaches out for the bottle in front of him. There is a painful indecision as the scent of whiskey rushes him as he brings it closer, and it takes more willpower than he would ever admit to resist. Instead of giving in and taking a swig from the bottle like every other night, he holds it out at arm’s length and heads to the kitchen. He has images in the back of his head of Stiles doing the same as he is now. Heading to the sink and pausing for a moment before unscrewing the lid and upending the bottle. He turns the tap on to wash the alcohol away, turning his head so that he doesn’t have to watch his only crutch getting washed down the drain. When it’s done, he drops the bottle into the sink and leans heavily against the kitchen counter, breathing deeply.

It’s only the first step, but it’s one closer to getting his daughter back.


	21. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry to everyone who wants me to re-write this and have Stiles as a boy, but as much as I enjoy reading mpreg I don't think I could write it. And therefore any re-write would be a completely different story.

Scott McCall has been a particularly painful thorn in Derek’s side for coming up two years now; in all honesty, Derek would be glad for Scott to remain a silent and invisible bottom dweller of his pack. He would gladly let he and his hunter girlfriend drift away until the memories and the connections begin to fade and they can begin to move on from the incessant righteous indignation and ridiculous morals that Scott brings with him.

Or, at least he would be glad for all of that, if he didn’t find Stiles hovering over his number on her phone everyday for a week when she thought no one was looking.

Derek watched as Stiles blossomed, as she grew more confident and took walks out to the edge of the preserve with the pack. He’s watched her get her magic under control at an unprecedented rate, watched her stomach grow and the love for the child inside her grow with it. He’s watched her _laugh._

Beneath that though, she has also lost something. A little of that extra spark, the sarcasm that used to be so fluent and the pure innocence that used to come from those memories of her childhood spent being foolish with Scott. Most of that is gone; not all, but most, and Stiles isn’t quite Stiles without it.

She needs Scott back.

The pack is wary, to say the least, when he brings it up with them whilst Stiles is sleeping.

There is the expected of ‘ _buts_ ’ and ‘ _whys_ ’ and a particularly exuberant ‘ _no fucking way’_ from Erica.

There is also the unexpected tug they all apparently feel, tense like a wire from his stomach and leading out along each of his members until it reaches Scott. Derek sighs, because of course it would appear this strongly for the first time because of a pack member he hardly even wants anymore.

“The fuck was that?” Jackson exclaimed, hand splayed over his solar plexus in exactly the same place Derek himself had felt it.

“Pack bond.” Danny answers him quickly, face twisted. “              Christ, i’m human and i felt that.” Derek nods, taking glances around the table to see if he can find where it came from. It wasn’t actually from Scott, stretching out in the other direction and reaching out to him, which means someone around this table doesn’t like what they’re talking about, or the reaction of the others in regards to Scott’s return.

“It was me.” Boyd, surprisingly, grumbles. His eyes are downcast, fingers twisting together tensely as he ignored the shocked murmurs and stares from around the table.

“Okay-“ Derek hesitates, unable to fathom whatever feeling has now settled into the pit of his stomach, like uncertainty and residual fear. “Okay, so, why don’t you explain what you’re thinking. I called the meeting to find out how everyone felt about it, so..” He lets his sentence drop out and waits with the others who have their attention focused on their quietest pack member. Even Erica, practically glued to Boyd’s side at any given moment, looks at him with confusion in the lines of her face.

“It’s just.. Even after everything- after he was such an _asshole._ ” Boyd’s voice is quiet and low as usual, but twined with frustration. “Scott’s still- he’s still pack, y’know? He hurt Stiles, and he hurts us, but we can still feel him and we can remember everything else he did to try and keep us safe, it’s- we, Erica and me, we stayed after Gerard because there was something else. Something new, like-“ The frustrated noise that escapes Boyd is expected, all of them feeling it in the new strong bond forming between them. “I thought we were becoming a kind of _family_. And Scott is included in that family, in the feeling of it in the pack space inside of me, whether he deserves it or not.”

Quiet descends over the pack, most of them with their attention fixed any place but at Boyd. Beneath the table, Derek can just about see Isaac reaching out and twining his fingers with Danny on one side and Lydia on the other, and he can feel the spread of comfort that emanates from them all as it travels through them and into him, into all of the others. It’s unexpected and discontenting to say the least that this would develop now, of all times. In all honesty, Derek had given up on even trying to find the line that connected them all; had figured that being such an untraditional and messed up group of humans, weres and whatever the hell else’s would lead to more of a family group than the organised pack that he can remember from his own childhood. 

The memories of shared feelings, images, entire conversations through just sensations in his stomach and his heart makes his throat swell closed. He tries to not remember how it felt when those lines were destroyed, leaving him with the damaged frays of Peter and the painful echo’s from Laura.

He tries not to remember how it felt to lose those, as well.

“I think we should let Stiles decide.” Isaac pipes up, fingers clenching and unclenching nervously around his pack members hands. “I mean, Scott would be part of this if everything that happened hadn’t happened, and if Stiles needs him to help or whatever, then surely we shouldn’t be deciding to keep him away just because we don’t like him right now. Right?”

Jackson’s phone, almost vibrating itself off of the table, interrupts the tense air settling around them. Even Lydia flinches. Derek breathes out in relief, thankful that whatever was about to be said or done has been delayed, until Jackson snorts and twists in his chair to look out into the hallway.

“You could have just come in and spoken to us, Stilinski!” He yells, and they all stifle giggles at the way Stiles evidently must drop her phone and scramble down from whatever step she had been sat on.

“Fuck you, Whittemore. The only way i ever learn anything around here is by eavesdropping.” She leans against the doorway, avoiding all the places along her side that are still even vaguely sore, as she stares at them all. Her fingers, Derek notices, are splayed over the expanded expense of her stomach.

“Anyway-“ Stiles continues with a flick of her hair. “Scott is going to be here in an hour so you all need to decided whether you’re going to be here for that. And none of you are going to be assholes, understood?”

They all stare, wide-eyes and fish mouthed before she rolls her eyes.

“Understood?” She repeats again, eying them all a little more critically.

“Yes, mom.” Jackson grumbles under his breath, obviously thinking Stiles wouldn’t hear. The cup from the side board that is aimed at his head is testament to his absolute wrong-ness, and everybody lets the tension ease again as they laugh at his affronted face. Stiles doesn’t even break out a smile for him, twisting on her heel and making her way back towards the staircase to collect her dropped phone and return back to whichever bedroom she was in beforehand.

“An hour guys, i mean it!” She calls behind her as she disappears from view.

~~~

“I’m sorry i need him so much.” Stiles tells Derek as they sit in his room waiting for Scott’s arrival. Derek can hear his can turning into the opening for the house, so they have maybe a minute, a minute and a half before he reaches the front door.

“Stiles-“ He’s glad that she talks over him, unsure of what he would have said.

“It’s just – i know how much of a dick he was, okay? I get it, and it hurts all the time that he chooses his girlfriend of what? A year? Over me. But i get it, i think. And he’s been a really shitty friend since Peter turned him, but before that? He was there all the time when my mom got sick, and when she died. And he helped me get rid of all the salty fatty foods when my dad’s blood pressure got too high. I just- I miss him, yknow? Old Scott, that is. I miss him.” Derek reaches out slowly, knowing that even now when Stiles is looking surprisingly comfortable that she will flinch at a random touch that was unwelcome. She has time to pull away if she doesn’t want his arms around her, but instead she leans forward, sighs into his chest as she leans against him.

“It’s okay, Stiles.” He smoothes out the back of her hair with gentle fingertips. “If Scott’s what you need then we’ll make it work.”

The sound of Scott knocking draws them out of their quiet, and Stiles sighs heartily against his chest before pulling away and muttering ‘ _showtime_ ’ under her breath. Derek reaches out as she is climbing off the bed, one finger just grazing the skin of her wrist in order to pull her attention back.

“If you don’t want to do this, it isn’t too late. We can send him away.” The smile she gives him is so uncertain and thankful that his heart thuds quickly in his chest, fingers twitching where he has pulled them back to rest on his thighs with the need to reach out and pull her back again.

“Thanks, but i gotta do this.” Shaking herself off, Stiles makes her way to the door. Derek follows behind her a moment later, and pauses when she does, door just about to open.

“You’ll stay with me right? You won’t leave me alone with him?” Derek doesn’t resist the need this time, reaches out with his arms wide enough that Stiles can see them clearly and leaving her enough time to say no before they come around her and pull her in quickly, her back to his chest.

“You know i will.” He mutters into her hair, pressing a kiss to her scalp before he lets go of her again with a small smile.

“Come on, Isaac’s let him in.”

* * *

Not only was Derek staying with her, it would appear that the entire pack has found a way to cram themselves into the living room as Isaac lets Scott in and Stiles and Derek follow a moment later.

Stiles smiles gratefully to each member, and Lydia squeezes her fingers when they brush past each other. Jackson is standing to Scott’s right, Isaac to his left, like prison guards, and Stiles lets out a choked and awkward laugh at the sight of them.

“Guys, c’mon, you’re scaring the shit out of him. Sit down.” Stiles moved to her usual seat, curled up in the corner of the sofa, Derek sat automatically beside her and pulled the afghan down across her. His fingers found her ankle beneath the wool, her fingers finding the pulse point in his wrist. Such a constant for them now that it’s the one move they do without having the think it through and second guess it. Danny smiles at them, dimples popping in his face, and takes the final seat on that chair. Everyone else settles around them, squishing together on love seats and recliners until there is only one seat left, directly opposite Stiles. There is a coffee table and almost half the room between where Stiles is sitting and the last seat left for Scott, and Stiles rolls her eyes at them all.

“Seriously guys?” None of them look apologetic though, so she just sighs and rolls her eyes again before focusing on Scott, who is still looking dumbstruck stood in the middle of the room.

“Dude, sit down.” She points at the last chair and Scott goes where directed, sitting on the edge like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

An uneasy silence falls over them, Scott on the receiving end of seven glares and Stiles trying to block the feelings and images flooding in from the thoughts of her pack. Jackson grumbles under his breath when Scott shifts in his seat, and Stiles has to stifle a giggle when Lydia pinches his thigh in warning.

“Stiles-“

“Scott-“ There is a moment where they pause, waiting for the other to talk, before they both burst out into awkward laughter, glancing up at each other as they try to get it under control. The others stare at them like they have gone crazy, Derek’s hand on her ankle tightens for a second before she graces him with a glance and a happy nod.

“You go.” Stiles nods at Scott once the laughter has settled down, relaxing back into the sofa as the thoughts from the people around the room quieten into an uneasy sense of relaxation.

“Okay, well, um. I guess i just wanted to, make sure you were okay? And tell you that i’m sorry.” Scott drops his eyes to his fingers, entwined in his lap, and they stay fixated there. “I know that i messed up and you got hurt, and that i hurt you. And i’d, um, i’d totally understand if you never wanted to see me again or whatever.”

“You’re such a dumbass.” Stiles retorts, making Scott flinch. There are at least three distinct grunts of agreement from around the room, which Stiles can identify as being from at least Jackson and Danny. She sends glares their way.

“You’re such a freaking dumbass, McCall, and yeah you’ve been a really shitty pack member and an even worse friend, i’m totally not denying that. And it’s going to take such a long time and so, so many curly fries before you can even consider yourself anywhere near forgiven, but man, c’mon. You’re my best friend, you always have been, girlfriends or not, okay?”

The hopeful look that Scott throws her is almost painful to look at, wide puppy dog eyes brimming with wet tears and he smiles wide but uncertain at her.

“Stiles-“

“Look, okay, i’ve been doing pretty good at getting past all of this without you, alright? But that doesn’t mean i wanted to. And this-“ She prods at her swollen abdomen. “Will be here in like, t-minus three months. And honestly, i don’t want him or her to be born and then not know their uncle Scott. So get your shit together so we can get back to _us_ , man.”

Scott blinks furiously before giving up on trying not to cry, instead he grins and lets the tears still in his eyes fall.

“Yeah.” Scott chokes out. “Yeah, okay. Th-thank you.” Stiles returns his grin, before a yawn catches her off guard.

“I’m a little tired today, so, maybe you could come back next week? I think we’re trying to get my dad around for dinner next Tuesday?” She turns to look at Derek for confirmation and gives him a relieved smile when he just nods and tightens his fingers on her ankle in support once again before turning to look back at Scott. “So, you should come then?” Scott nods, stands uncertainly because this is clearly Stiles dismissing him for the evening. Derek can feel her exhaustion, and wonder how he missed her becoming so run down in such a short space of time.

Scott lingers in the doorway, glances behind him to look at Stiles again. Everyone else is glaring at him, but Stiles rolls her eyes good naturedly and struggles from the sofa with Derek’s help to cross the room to him. It’s an unusual occurrence for Stiles to instigate a hug, but she reaches out a wraps her arms tightly around him. Muttering _‘idiot’_ under her breath when he rests his forehead against hers. Eventually, she pulls away, but Scott’s hand brushes her swollen stomach as they step apart and he smiles gently at her.

“You’re gonna be amazing, y’know.” Stiles laughs freely at him, punches him in the shoulder and turns around to go back to the chair and curl up next to Derek again, burying her face into his neck as Scott makes his way down the entry-way. Both Boyd and Lydia climb out of their chairs to follow him, and although they aren’t who Stiles expected to go, she makes no move to stop them. She knew it was going to happen.

“Thank you.” She mutters into Derek’s chest as she folds herself into him. He lets his fingers trail over the still too prominent protrusion of her spine, leeches out some of the pain that still lingers under her skin.

“I just hope he lives up to your expectations.” He replies before shifting and letting Stiles adjust until she is in the right position for him to lift her gently. She recalls a time he did this, before- before- and how much she had been annoyed at the treatment. Now, she just leans into it with a sleepy smile and a yawn.

“I didn’t know i was so-“ Another yawn escapes her. “Tired.”

Derek doesn’t reply, just continues up towards a bedroom to lay her down in.

* * *

Scott knows there will be people following him out, but he didn’t expect Boyd and Lydia. He didn’t expect Boyd to let Lydia take the lead position and he definitely didn’t expect the looks of pure dedication and hope on their faces. He stops on the porch, lets them stare at him in silence for a little while.

“You have to be _good_ for her this time, Scott.” Lydia implores, arms crossed over her chest. “You have to be really, really great. Don’t ever hurt her like that again because it’s been almost a year since we’ve heard her laugh that much in one hour. You can’t _go_ again.”

“I vouched for you. Don’t make me regret it.” Boyd continues, low voice rumbling in the quiet of the forest. Scott lets the shock show on his face, lets the gratefulness for the acceptance and their minute support echo in the reassurances he gives them.

“I won’t ever hurt her again.” He replies earnestly, but all he gets is a nod and a scowl in his direction before both of them turn and disappear back into the house.

Scott stands there on that porch for what must be at least ten minutes trying to process everything that just happened, but it’s too much. He doesn’t know how much to worry about the future or how much he has really been accepted. He isn’t sure about how much effort it’s going to take to be trusted again, or how hard he will have to work to have him and Stiles back to being _ScottAndStiles_.

None of that really matters though, when the feel of Stiles’ arms are still around him and the image of her smiling face is still fresh in his memory and her scent is still clinging to his hoodie. Instead, he lets it go for now and hopes for the best.

Nothing else really matters, now that he knows he is being forgiven.


	22. Premature

If Stiles had ever needed any proof that Derek would do, literally, anything for her; it is this night. What had started off as a dinner to entice her dad to come visit again had turned into the most awkward collection of people Derek could ever have imagined crammed in around a table.

Once Scott had been invited, it had only been a matter of time before Stiles had began obsessing about making sure Allison knew she was welcome to, and then Chris wouldn’t let Allison walk into an uncertain pack territory without protection, so of course he had to come along.

Frankly, the least awkward person was the one adult at the table that this entire thing had been planned for.

The Sheriff was sober. Honest to God, not a drop in two whole weeks, sober. He looked fresher, more alert, and Stiles wasn’t screaming herself raw trying to block out the sounds of his thoughts bouncing around in her head. All in all, Derek was going to count that part a win and hopefully call it a night. Who needs food, anyway? Not him. No-siree. Not if it comes with this amount of tension and nervous giggles.

The way that Stiles keeps throwing him desperate pleas for help with her eyes, accompanied with sharp little jolts of electric magic when she gets a little overwhelmed with how off-track her plan seems to be going, tells him that he had better buck his ideas up.

And if this dinner means that much to her, then it means even more to him.

That is his justification, at least, when he finds himself helping an extremely panicked and sweaty Isaac make sure his roasted potato’s don’t burn while he carves chicken.

There’s almost an entire Christmas dinner laid out along the counters, ready to be served, and only a few things left to be taken out of the over or off of the stove. Isaac had volunteered himself for kitchen duty before Stiles had put in a ridiculous online shopping order and decided Christmas had come early this year in the Hale Pack household. The poor kid, as talented as he is, was more than under prepared and had spent two days scanning cook books with an enthusiasm that reminds Derek of post-bite, pre-nice Isaac. Twitchy and with a sharp edge, worried at all times. Emotions that had threaded through Stiles’ magic shielding and mixed into her own well of worry over this night.

It had been a pretty bad few days, overall.

At least now that everyone was here and it was about as awkward as Derek had anticipated, they could get it over with. Stiles could begin to let people build or destroy whatever bridges they wanted and then it could become more casual, it could be whatever the hell Stiles wanted, just once they got this night out of the way for her.

And Derek was going to be as enthusiastic as he possibly could. Even if he hated boiled carrots and could only ever think of blood and pain and death when he looked at Allison and saw Kate’s face staring back at him.

* * *

Isaac puts out pretty amazing food, for being as unprepared and worried as he had been. It’s warm and fresh and good, all the things Derek had once thought he couldn’t have again, and it provides a particularly helpful distraction when conversation falls flat around the table as they sit down to eat.

Chris sits beside Allison, who is pale faced and avoidant as she sits quietly beside Scott. The pack is spread around wildly in a semi-square formation around Stiles’ position directly opposite her father. There are titters of over-enthusiastic laughter whenever two people reach for a bowl at the same time, the Sheriff keeps nudging Scott in the side and shooting pointed glances in his daughters direction.

Stiles isn’t eating anything.

Derek is sat right next to her, and the only thing on her plate are the slices of carved chicken Isaac had dished out to each plate before allowing them all to roam free with everything else. Although she isn’t eating anywhere near what she should be, and nothing like _before,_ Stiles has been better about eating recently. Especially since she began getting the magic under control, and if anything, Derek had thought the stress of all of this stilted and painful conversation would make her want for something to occupy her before she inevitably said something that made her gesture wildly trying to back pedal and begin blushing.

He begins to worry when she pales significantly, mouth twisting into a tight line. No one else seems to have noticed, having fallen into an almost sarcastic conversation about the state of sport at the moment, so he reaches out to grasp the hand she has laid in a fist on the table beside her plate.

“What’s going on?” He whispers to her quietly. His betas might be able to hear, but it really does look like they’re on the verge of something like a conversation now and aren’t really listening.

Stiles’ hand tightens beneath his as she breathes out through her nose heavily.

“I’m just a little warm; I’m going to get some water.” Stiles shakes him off before he can reply, leaving his hand to thump heavily down on the table.

Every face turns to him suddenly, conversation falling flat as they stare at him and then at the empty space beside him. He knows that, like himself, his betas are listening to Stiles find her way into the kitchen. That they can all hear the too-fast thrumming of her heart.

Everybody hears it when the glass that had been in her hand falls to the floor with a crash, the sound of Stiles’ body following it soon after.

Derek is out of his seat before his mind even registers fully what is happening, racing through, half transformed, to find Stiles struggling to sit up against the cabinets behind her. Around her there is a pool of water and smashed glass, tinged pink where her soft and human skin has caught on the sharp edges and is bleeding into the wet.

He’s on his knees beside her, getting the denim of his jeans damp, as the Sheriff takes the other side. Together, they get her resting back against the solid wood, panting out breath after pained breath with her eyes clenched and her hands now curled into pink-red bloody fists over the swell of her abdomen.  Under her laboured breath, Derek can just about hear her mumbling words over and over in time with the clenching of her fingers.

“Stiles, what is it? What’s wrong?” From her he can only smell the bitter fear and pain that he had hoped they were leaving behind; can only see that somewhere, somehow she is in distress.

“Hurts.” She manages to grip out, throwing out a hand to grab for her father who clasps it back as tightly and Derek knows he dares. Stiles’ knuckles are white with the force of her grip on him; there must be vaults of Stiles’ magical energy flowing through the man but he doesn’t even flinch, just gives her that one point to ground her on and offers all the comfort that any of them might have right now.

“What hurts, sweetheart? Where does it hurt?” The Sheriff uses his other hand to brush wisps on hair from her pale, clammy face while Derek holds her upright and steady with on hand over her shoulder and the other covering her own over her abdomen.

“The-“ A low, drawn out groan of pain interrupts her as she curls up over her protruding belly. “The baby.” She manages to claw out once whatever stab of pain had caught her off guard lessens. Derek watches as her head lolls momentarily, almost disconnected from what he is seeing. Stiles is paling quickly, breathing erratic and heart beating beyond what even his enhanced senses can keep up with.

It should have been expected, when she goes limp and unresponsive in their arms.

The silence that falls over them is deafening and stunned, all of them stood or knelt watching as she falls gracelessly and without consciousness into the waiting hands of her father and her alpha.

It must just be a moment, no time at all that feels like a lifetime, before people finally kick into gear. Chris shoulders John out of the way while, surprisingly, Boyd and Lydia move Derek’s heavy body off to the side. Together, they lift her out of the water and up, up, up onto the breakfast nook in the kitchen.

Derek thinks, a little hysterically, that it’s a shame they hadn’t had a chance to clean that today.

Above him, where the people who are actually functioning exist, he can hear babble and letters that he thinks are supposed to make words but all he can hear when he tries to listen is the sound of Stiles pain. All he can see when he thinks he is looking up at them from where he is kneeling in the wet is the sickening way that Stiles fell into them when she had hardly been able to touch anyone mere weeks ago.

He’s not sure how long both he and the Sheriff sit there in all that broken glass while the rest of his pack rush around, shouting things at each other, but he doesn’t manage to pull himself out of his stupor until someone thrusts a phone at him and propels him off the floor.

“What- I don’t- Who am I calling?” Derek manages to get out eventually, clutching the phone to his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Maybe it is, maybe it’s the only thing keeping him from look at Stiles and wondering why he can’t see those stupidly expressive eyes or hear her quietly powerful voice or why he can’t feel that constant thrum of energy that should surround her.

“Deaton!” Jackson shouts – is he shouting? – from about a foot away from him. “Stiles has gone into labour.”

* * *

Derek had been so blind to everything around him. He had knelt on the floor in pink-tinged wet and let himself believe it was spilt water and cut palms. Easily cleaned, easily fixed, not a threat.

Deaton arrives and brings with him a flurry of calm that seems to settle them, most of them, into some kind of order so that he can find out what is going on. Erica, strangely enough, is situated between Stiles’ legs, knelt up on the breakfast bad and covered in wet and red like an exaggeration of where Derek had knely. Her words are some of the first he’s really heard since Stiles passed out.

“ Stiles waters have broken. At first, we thought she had passed out from the pain, but well-“ She gestures at space that Derek isn’t tempted to investigate, for reasons more about Stiles respect and her recent ordeals than any other kind of fear. Deaton seems to share no such regard for her sufferings or dignity, appearing beside Erica – although his feet remain entirely on the floor.

Somewhere inside himself Derek had hoped that Deaton would – well who knows what he had hoped, something other, he thinks. Instead, he pales, takes in a deep breath and tries to centre himself.

“Alright, that’s a lot of unexpected blood.” Derek had smelt it, strong and cloying, and denied in the deepest recesses of his conscious that it was not, in any circumstances, Stiles’ blood filling up the room with that bitter metallic taste on the back of his throat and coating his tongue.

“What do we do, take her to a hospital?” Some other, familiar, voice asks. Shaky and quiet and only just heard.

“It seems like our best bet, at the moment. Stiles is around ten weeks from being full term and if we want them to – well yes. Hospital is our best bet.” Derek watches as Boyd swoops forward, arms steady and large as they curl under her body lightly and lift with ease. He is a step from following them before a voice, Isaac he thinks, coughs wetly to interrupt.

“What about her magic? Won’t it, y’know, interfere?” The pack stops, turns, then turns again to face Deaton while Boyd hesitates with a bleeding Stiles in the doorway.

“No, at the moment all of her magic is trying to figure out what it’s meant to be protecting. It won’t go for something growing in Stiles so much as it will do whatever it can to save _her_. Hopefully, that will mean that it will stem enough of this bleeding, wherever it is coming from, that she won’t die of blood loss while doctors get the child out safely.”

Collective sighs, relief relief relief, and Derek shares a horrified look with the Sheriff over the expanse of a room.

* * *

They move when Boyd moves.

To the cars, separating and panicking, leaving food and fluid and blood behind to be dealt with later.

Into the hospital, where everything is bland and too bright, dulled and too sensitive. Time isn’t a construct when all you hear is _surgery_ and _blood loss_ and _unstable._

Derek is pushed into a seat by someone, familiar scent, familiar touch, warm voice. The Sheriff is put next to him and he knows, knows inside of him where all the bad things live, that they’re both hoping and praying when everyone knows that they’ve never saved a person with faith before.

Distantly, Derek thinks about how Stiles became their linchpin. The one thing they revolved around, always and without fault. He thinks about how they got to this point, and how they saved her then failed her all over again.

He thinks about what they will do without her.

All he can think about is life without Stiles and how they could possibly live without their life, he’s thinking about it so hard and so much that he almost misses it. Almost misses the moment when faith, hopes and prayer for the first time, saves someone he doesn’t think he could bare to lose. When some doctor who smells like exhaustion and elation and the thick, painful scent of Stiles’ blood says that one word he hadn’t allowed himself to think because it would hurt too much when it wasn’t the reality outside of his head.

_Alive._


	23. Alive and Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like we're coming to a close soon, folks! Two or three more chapters of this one I think, although I might keep up with one shots on the verse if there's any interest. Hope you enjoy it!

Love.

Stiles used to think that love was a fickle and fake thing. Teenagers fell in and out of love all of the time. Couples in love get married, divorced, have affairs and beat each other around. People love their phones, certain foods, the way the sun sets over lakes or behind mountains. People love in exaggeration, so much so that it’s just another adjective. Just another word amongst millions and millions, a combination of four letters that are supposed to mean everything and end up becoming meaningless.

Her mother, all the way up until she died, used to tell Stiles ‘ _I love you more than my heart can take sometimes. I love you so much that it feels like I’ll explode from it’._

After, when her mom was gone and her dad was lost somewhere between work and a bottle, Stiles thought that must be an awful thing. To love someone so much that it hurt. To need someone so much that you feel like you might die from it, or them, or the prospect of being without.

When her dad wasn’t there, when Stiles was putting herself to bed and humming her mothers lullabies to herself she would whisper just before she fell asleep promises that she would never love the way her mother had. Never so much it hurt. Never completely. Her mom had looked so sad, small and lost and pained in that white room with the blue blankets and chapped lips. The last time, when they had been curled up on that uncomfortable bed and Stiles had to move her ear all the way against her mom’s lips just to hear her talk. Her mom had cried and cried and cried after that final _‘I love you more than my heart can take sometimes. I love you so much that it feels like I’ll explode from it.’_

And then she had been gone.

Stiles had meant it too. Had never loved a phone, a food, a sunset, lake or mountain. She had never loved a person, not completely. Not with everything. Never so much that it hurt. She could never understand the people who loved, fickle and fake, or the way her mom had loved with every fibre of her being until the moment she died, until that tiny instance of human life was in front of her tangible enough to touch.

* * *

Stiles had lost a lot of blood. It was the first thing they were told as the doctor led the sheriff and himself along a too-clean corridor to the door of a room that Derek could smell her in.

Stiles had lost a lot of blood. They had to do a C-Section to get the baby out. Stiles hasn’t woken up yet. They had to put the baby in NICU until they were sure it would survive. Stiles should be fine with rest and recuperation. They didn’t know how long it would take the baby to breathe on its own.

Derek had been stuck on _‘alive’_ for so long that nothing else seemed to matter, not until he could get into that room and check her heart was beating and her chest was rising for himself. Hands clenching and unclenching impatiently while the doctor talked on and on at them when it was obvious all they needed was to see her, touch her.

Too many words, strung together to make sentences Derek was hardly hearing. Peripherally, he heard the announcement that the baby, tiny and fragile as it was, had turned out to be a girl. Beside him, strong enough for Derek to feel flow deep into his own bones, he could feel the Sheriff’s relief.

Time passes slowly when you’re impatient; Derek has known this for a long time. It feels like hours and not minutes that they stand outside that door, but it’s almost sweet relief when the doctor relents and let them in.

Inside, there are white walls that are too bright, blue  
blankets. Stiles had chipped lips.

The sheriff chokes on a sob beside him but he can’t bring himself to care, crossing the room until he was by her side, lifting her hand to wrap her lip fingers around his wrist, where he could feel the pulse in her thumb against his own skin and know for sure that there she was, _alive._

* * *

It takes Stiles almost three days to wake up properly. Between the blood loss, the anaesthetic and the pain medication she had been conscious for only moments at a time before slipping back into whatever darkness was holding her under.

Derek stayed by her bedside for the most part, leaving only when Melissa tugged his wrist until he relented and followed her. Eventually, he had found himself being pushed into staff showers, handed a change of clothes by Jackson when he had finished, food by Isaac.

Once, only once, he visited the baby.

She was tiny, hidden underneath wires and tubes that were keeping her nourished and breathing. Her skin was darker than he had expected, pink verging on red but the NICU nurse told him that was normal for babies premature and under developed. A feeling, too strong, stronger than he thought himself capable, welled up inside that space that had been empty for so long. That had only just begun to close with pack and Stiles, and Stiles becoming pack.

It was too much. When he didn’t know if that tiny little piece of Stiles would survive, when her mother hadn’t even woken up yet. It was too much to love this perfect little being in front of him, when she wasn’t really his to love.

When Stiles woke up it was a slow and painful process. Her heart rate increased, settled, increased again. Her eyes had flickered open, winced in the light, opened again. Her hand shot out, wrapped around Derek’s wrist as he reached for her. She didn’t let go of him, not even when her eyes opened properly and her heart rate drew down into something average.

He supposes her pain must have been more than she let on. The incision along her stomach was deep and hardly beginning to heal, yet she didn’t complain. She took the water he offered, gathered herself together while he watched, Lydia and Erica hovering worriedly in the background, and then asked for her baby.

“Stiles-“ Lydia had stepped forward, hand laying over Stiles’ exposed ankle lightly until she was glared at.

“My baby isn’t inside of me anymore, Lydia. I knew the moment I woke up that something was wrong, okay? Just- if- if- Is it gone? Did –“ She shoots Derek a desperate, pleading look that makes his heart ache. Gently, fingers stroking over her cheek and capturing tears he’s certain she hadn’t noticed she was crying, he tried to soothe her.

“Your baby is alive, Stiles. She’s premature, and under developed. They have her in the neo-natal intensive care unit at the moment.” Her eyes clench shut, fingers curling into her palms as she breathes deeply. It’s the centring method that Deaton taught her at the beginning of her magical training, Derek recognises, and he counts along in his head with her until she loosens up.

“How bad is it?” He is proud, when her voice hardly even shakes.

“At the moment her lungs are not as developed as they would like so they have her on a ventilator, and they have tubes for feeding and nutrition. The nurse told Isaac and your dad that all of her other vitals are becoming much more stable. They’re just not sure how well her lungs will do.” Derek hesitates, wraps his hand around her securely. “They aren’t sure she’ll ever come off the machine yet, Stiles.”

The hitch in her breath is telling, the tears in her eyes are expected, and the strength in her voice is always, always a surprise.

“I’m glad it’s a girl.” She tells them with a smile. “Take me to her.”

* * *

It’s not really an argument, in order to get out of her room and to the NICU all Stiles has to do is send Erica out for a wheelchair and let Lydia deal with the nurse. There are some disapproving looks while her IV’s are changed over to the chair pole, but other than that there isn’t much that can be done.

Stiles is anxious all the way to the neo-natal unit, especially so when she and Derek are wrapped up in clean scrubs and booties, masks and gloves. It seems like so much protection when it’s her own little girl in there, but she goes with it, because it’s like she can feel her. Like there is a tether that got stronger the closer they got to her, pulling and tugging in the right direction until Stiles finally, finally reached her daughter.

It’s instantaneous. Her mother never told her about that. No matter how much she avoiding the kind of love that hurts and consumes and could end a person with one wrong move, here it is right in front of her.

It’s like every cell in her body knows this tiny person, wrapped in wires and hardly the size of her hand. It’s like her heart has swollen ten times bigger inside her chest and it’s a wonder, such a wonder, that her body can hold all of that.

She loves so much it hurts. She loves so much she feels like she could explode from it.

“Is she supposed to be that tiny?” Stiles turns imploring eyes up to the nurse that followed them in here. She has a kind face, which is good Stiles supposes, but she hopes that she is not the kind to sugar coat it if something is seriously bad.

“No.” The nurse shakes her head. “Your girl is little for being ten weeks premature. I’ve seen babies at twenty three weeks bigger than this. She’s a fighter though, everything but her lungs look practically perfect.”

“And her lungs? How are they?” Derek’s voice is nervous; like he isn’t sure he is allowed to ask. Stiles reaches up the hand not attached to an IV, settling it over his where it is resting lightly on her shoulder.

“We’re definitely seeing improvement. It might be a while yet before anything significant happens in that department though. You’ll have to talk with Dr Wilbur about treatment options and future plans though.” The nurse smiles and the goes about fussing with the machines and checking numbers as they both just stare at the tiny little body inside the clear box.

It’s hardly a surprise when she starts to cry. Stiles had been able to feel this bubble of emotion crushing down on her windpipe the moment she caught glance of her daughter. She is reminded again, of how much her mother cried and cried, that last time she had told Stiles how much loving her hurt. How it was too much. She wonders, absently and before the first real sob breaks through, why any woman would willingly put themselves through the pain of loving a child.

“I wanna hold her.” She manages to choke out as Derek drags over a chair quickly to sit beside her. He shushes her gently, careful not to jostle her. The pain that she had been feeling across her incision site drifted away and she knew he was taking that pain, but it wasn’t enough. Would never be enough again.

“I know.” Derek replies quietly. “I want to hold her too.” He whispers it like it’s supposed to be a secret, like he’s not supposed to want to love her. Stiles lets her tears dry out before she looks up at him, catching his eyes directly.

“I get that- that you didn’t exactly sign up for all of this.” She gestures wildly around the room and over herself. “But, I... Derek. I only ever feel safe when I’m with you. If – I mean, if you want, and it’s totally cool if you don’t, you could be like her... her dad, maybe? I know we haven’t talked, but, you know right. That-“ Stiles stops babbling when she sees the look on his face, like he’s been struck between the eyes with a hammer. Quickly, trying to push away her sense of rejection and pain, she look away from him and tries to backtrack.

“Y’know what, forget I even asked okay? You’re going to be epic Uncle Derek and she’ll love you all the more for it. It’s fine, I’m probably just imagin-“

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is pitched low, different, quieter and slightly amused with a hint of something that Stiles can’t quite put her finger on. When she doesn’t look up at him, he raises his hand slowly enough that she can see it in her peripheral vision and has a chance to pull away if she wants or needs to. She doesn’t, and instead his fingers rest beneath her chin and tilt her face up until she is looking at him again.

“I would be honoured.” His eyes shift to the baby and then back to her just so that she understands, before his fingers and tilting her a little closer. She knows what he’s going to do, can feel the little ball of nerves and anticipation building inside of her. He’s hesitating, and she knows why, hates it even, but the anticipation is almost as sweet as her annoyance is bitter.

“And I love you. I hope that you never doubt that.”

Stiles just about grins at him before he kisses her, soft and careful, like she didn’t know she needed. She thinks about how much it must have taken him to say those words out loud to her, when every other person he has loved has hurt him or died. She thinks about how she thought she hadn’t loved, not really, not with everything, before today.

Stiles knows different now. She has loved completely, too much all of the time, from the moment he saved her. She knows that now. Her heart hurts, feels so big it might explode, but it’s okay because she’s _safe_ with him.


	24. Perspective

Stiles didn’t last too long in comfort at the hospital. After spending some time in the NICU with the baby, she went back to her room only to have to be checked over quietly by Deaton. Pained and tender as she was, Deaton checked over her magical stability and declared it finally even, growing back steadily and completely under Stiles’ control in a way it hadn’t ever been before.

It was only a few hours, a nap and a nightmare later that she demanded to go home.

“You woke up less than twelve hours ago after massive blood loss and a c-section, Miss. Stilinski. I’m sorry, but in good conscience I cannot let you out of the hospital, no matter how fast you appear to be recovering.” Stiles throws desperate, pleading looks at both Derek and her father, tears still drying on her cheeks as they both shake their heads at her. Derek’s heart aches at her pained sigh, the trembling, careful way she turns on her side away from them all and curls into herself as much as she can without straining her incision site.

The doctor gives them a grim nod each, leaving the room quickly. The sheriff stares worriedly at Stiles’ back, fingers clenching together at his side. It’s obvious that he doesn’t know what he is supposed to be doing here, and as much as Derek would like to help him, he can’t. Instead, he crosses to the other side of the bed, sitting in the chair closest to the bed so that he can reach out – careful, so so careful because this is like Stiles three months ago – and grasp her fingers between his own.

“Tell me what’s going on inside of your head, Stiles.” His voice, by default of months trying to coax Stiles to just outside his bedroom, goes soft and quiet. She trembles lightly, obviously in pain with how she has decided to lay, but makes no move to get more comfortable. Instead, she looks up at his with wide, wet eyes that practically beg him to get her out of here and to anywhere that she would be safe and content.

“S’not safe here.” Derek sighs softly, letting his fingers rub over her cold ones slowly.

“Of course it is, the entire pack is drifting around this hospital, not to mention your father and Melissa are always within five feet of you. You’ve never been safer.” She shakes her head a little, eyes clenching so tightly together that it is not surprising when those held back tears break through.

“They- here. Out – In the – the carpark. Derek..” Behind her, her father closes his own eyes, and Derek can hear the hitch in his breathing as he tries to get control over himself. Derek has grown able to hold back what he is feeling, having been the outlet for Stiles’ memories after nightmares and flashbacks. He leans over, presses a kiss to her forehead.

“They’re gone. All gone, Stiles. Nothing will hurt you now.” She tenses, more than he thought possible, before letting out a deep breath.

“What if- What if Chris lets it slip to his father or some other hunter that.. What if more hunters turn up looking for her, or for me?” Derek, for all that he believes that Chris would not do that to them, cannot help but picture the scenario in his mind. Can see the ways that could turn out, pack against hunters, humans against humans, after the baby or Stiles and turning this hospital into a bloodbath while they do so. He can’t just brush off this fear, because the ingrained fear of hunters is in them all now.

“How about someone goes and talks to Chris? We can get a good list of names and maybe headshots of hunters he knows and we can position pack members over the hospital on look out? Stiles, I promise you, we won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever again.”

Her eyes, always full of expression, lock onto his face with frightening focus; searching for whatever she needs to find. Thankfully, she must find it, nodding slowly and letting out a relieved breath. Derek diverts his gaze and nods to the Sheriff, who nods back in relief.

He tries hard not to notice the look of relief on the Sheriff’s face as he backs out of the room without a word.

* * *

John has been a few important things in his life.

Husband. Father. Sheriff. Widower.

And now, too soon and under the worst circumstances, grandfather.

He stops by the NICU on his way out of the hospital, weary and confused as he watches that tiny little girl swathed in wires and electrodes. Jackson and Lydia are in there with her, all sterile and protected as they stroke gentle fingers through her gloves at the side of her incubator. Looking all like a little family, where Stiles and whoever she had chosen as her partner should have sat ten years from now, if his plan for her had gone even remotely right.

He wishes Stiles would name her, so that John would have a word to put with the feeling of loss if they do lose her. Because now, after everything, this child born of his daughters pain might not live through the night.

It hardly feels worth it, all of this pain for a flicker of hope in what has been the worse year of his (their, he reminds himself, they have all suffered) life.

John tries not to think too hard about the way Stiles had looked, all curled up and in pain yet again because of what those men have put her through.

He tries not to think about how he became a murderer for her.

When Claudia was alive, sick but alive, she had made him promise that he would do anything and everything to keep her safe. He had failed in that, but maybe one sin would make up for another. Maybe, maybe killing those monsters kept his promise in the end.

Maybe he doesn’t have to hate himself for becoming what he protects against.

Where Claudia used to tell Stiles ‘ _I love you more than my heart can take sometimes. I love you so much that it feels like I’ll explode from it’_ he brought her up telling her _‘I love you more than my mind can understand sometimes. I love you so much it feels like you’re all I live for, some days.’_ He wonders, if he and Claudia did anything good for their little girl. Wonders if her life wouldn’t have been better if she’d just had parents that had told her they loved her and left it at that.

Thoughts just as jumbled as they have been for weeks, he turns away from his granddaughter and begins to make his way out through the maze of the hospital, nodding at each pack member he comes across. They are randomly spread out over the entire building, on watch for a general _‘just in case’_ situation, even to him it is somewhat reassuring to know they are there.

Outside the hospital, waiting in a non-conspicuous car in the parking lot, is where John knows he will find Chris Argent.

Finding him here is not that surprising, given that he had seen both Scott and Allison still sat in the ER waiting room where Derek had told them to stay; he could hardly blame the alpha, even he didn’t want them near either Stiles or the baby.

They shared a nod when John was halfway to the car, which he took as non-verbal admission to enter the car, and a moment later he was sliding in next to the hunter.

They sit in silence together, John taking the time to appreciate dirty, unsterilized hospital air.

“So, what can I do for you, Sheriff?” Chris breaks the silence, twisting in his seat in a way that looked significantly uncomfortable. John sighs, scrubs his face with his hand tiredly before leaning his head back into the seat. He can feel the exhaustion creeping up on him from days of watching from Stiles’ bedside as she remained unconscious, trying to recover from the blood loss.

“Stiles has doubts about your desire to keep her safe. It’s probably irrational, but Derek wants a comprehensive list of all the hunters you know, and their headshots if you have them.” Chris scoffs, turning back so that he is looking directly at the hospital doors.

“You know I can’t do that. In no way do I condone what they did to your daughter or the pack, but I can’t just give them all up to a bunch of wolves and magic users. The best I can do is alert you if we see any in town or around the hospital.” John’s hand shoots out to grab Chris’s wrist when he reaches out to flick the radio on, yanking him back around to face him.

“The male leader in your family is the root cause of everything that has lead to this here moment. Do not make some bullshit honour amongst men reason to not give us what we want. Do not give us the one thing that might make Stiles feel safe enough to stay here and recuperate. Get me the goddamn list, Argent.”

They stare at each other, silent and tense, before Chris finally nods and shakes his head softly. John lets himself deflate a little in relief, only now noticing just how tense he had been the moment he had climbed into the car.

“Thank you, Chris.” The hunter nods again, hands clenching around his steering wheel.

“I’ll head back to the house and get you everything I can. Meet you back out here in an hour.” John nods his consent, reluctantly heading for the door to the car.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with Stiles right now. It’s just that he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be her father when he’s all these other important things.

Protector. Sheriff. Drunk. Murderer.

Chris’ hand clamps down on his forearm just before he climbs out of the car, pulling his attention back. The hunter looks shattered, a look in his eyes that John has only seen in veterans.

“I really am sorry for what they did, we did, to your daughter.” His voice is quiet and contrite, laced with honesty and probably a little heartbreak. He imagines that is how he has sounded every time he’s spoken to Stiles since they killed those bastards who put here in this hospital. John can’t find any words that would take away the blame he knows Argent is shouldering, instead offering an equally broken smile and shaking off his hand, climbing out of the car and back into uncertainty.

* * *

In his life, with all of his wealth and all of his pain, Jackson has seen many beautiful and equally as beastly things. He has seen a sunset in the Bahamas and he’s seen bodies bleeding out on the floor. He’s seen people he cares about fall in love and die in pain.

He’s seen Stiles ripped apart again and again, and he’s seen this tiny little piece of _perfection_ that came from it.

Before wolves and kanima’s and hunters, he had hated Stiles Stilinski. Jackson had hated her connection with her father and her true friendship with McCall and the way she was completely the opposite of perfect and yet so completely content with all of that imperfection.

Since then, all of the horrible and beautiful things that have happened to them, he’s come to love her. She takes up a part of him that craves family and safety and acceptance. She holds almost all of his secrets in the palm of her hand and she keeps them safe, will always keep him safe.

It kills a piece of him every time he looks at her and knows that he couldn’t do the same for her.

Now, sat opposite Lydia over an incubator holding possibly the one thing holding Stiles together right now, he can’t help but look at this tiny piece of Stiles and be thankful that she survived the horrible things. Survived enough to grow and live and give life to something as beautiful as this child. He can’t help but be thankful that she’s given him another member of family that he knows will have him, whatever he does or doesn’t do.

Through the sterile latex of the incubator glove, he can feel the heartbeat of the baby girl, can feel her chest rise with the pressure of artificial breath and fall with its retraction. He can feel every twitch and jump her tiny muscles achieve, fighting to grow and live and be life, just like her mother.

Lydia’s free hand is intertwined with his over the plastic encasing the little girl, rubbing circles on his skin as they wait for something to happen. A glance up at her and he knows what she is thinking, how they’re here and not even sure if they will ever be allowed to hold her, feed her, watch her grow up and up and up.

“She’ll be okay.” Jackson tells his girl, tugging on her hand just a little. Glad that she can’t hear his heartbeat the way he can hers, unsure of what he truly believes. “She’s strong. If anyone can survive, it will be her.”

The look Lydia gives him is positively heart-breaking.

“Are you talking about the baby, or about Stiles?”

* * *

Stiles doesn’t want to go back to sleep. The last time she went to sleep, she woke herself up screaming from a nightmare that is still clinging to the edge of her conscious the way the bad ones always do.

However, now that he dad has left the room and Derek is sucking away her pain through the palm of his hands, it’s becoming more and more impossible to stay awake. Her dads jumbled, half-hidden thoughts and feeling had been a sharp shock in her mind while he had been in the room and she had been able to add his pain to hers to keep her from drifting off, but now with only her emotional pain to keep to herself and Derek taking her physical, she can feel her eyes dropping, her hand in his slackening.

“Don’ wanna.” She manages to mumble out, exhausted, trying to lift her head from the pillow to glare at Derek. He used his free hand to move hair out of her eyes, leaned over to press his usual kiss to her forehead and she settled back with a desperate sigh.

“Just rest.” Derek whisper kisses against her clammy-cold skin and just like that, she obeys him.


	25. Julia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the last chapter of this story! I figured it was time I put this thing to bed, and I think we're kind of at a good point for it to finish? I'm very thankful for all of you who have stuck with me until the end.
> 
> See you on the other side!
> 
> (Also I'm thinking about continuing this verse with some 'first time' one-shots of their life together. Y/N?)

The baby heals unbelievably quickly. Derek is there, the day they take her off the tiny ventilator that had been helping her breathe and watches as she takes her first unaided breath. He’s there when they decide she can come out of the incubator and into a hospital crib, and as she cries when they move her, it’s tiny, hardly even a noise at all, but it’s sweet relief to hear it.

Derek is the first person that isn’t a medical professional to change her diaper and dress her in a onesie that Lydia had brought in along with a bag of other things that she decided the baby would need.

Jackson, trembling and grinning from ear to ear, is the first person to hold her close to feed her a bottle and rock her off to sleep.

Stiles won’t come to see her. Won’t touch her, won’t even talk about her. When she is released from the hospital, three days after the baby is taken off the ventilator, she has her father take her back to the Hale house and refuses, once again, to leave Derek’s bedroom.

It’s not often that the child is alone, whether it’s Jackson and Lydia or Isaac, Danny, or Boyd, she always has a pack member with her and other scattered around the hospital just in case. The sheriff visits occasionally, but never stays long. He looks pained each and every time his fingers brush over the girl’s tiny chest just to check she’s still breathing. Looks like it’s killing him as she guzzles down the small amount of milk they’re able to give her.

In the same way, Stiles is never alone. Derek had granted some amnesty to Scott and Allison, put them on border patrol around the house just for peace of mind. Just in case Stiles regresses to the days of trying to fly from the roof of the house. There are also at least two people in the house with her at all times. They listen to her cry as she tries to stem the flow of milk from her breasts, tries to battle with the warring emotions. The ache she feels because she doesn’t have her child in her arms and the terror she feels of having a child conceived by rape, in the worst time she has ever and will ever experience.

Derek isn’t allowed to hold her at night; she doesn’t wrap her fingers around his wrist anymore or rest her ear above his heart just to fall asleep.

He isn’t even sure if she does sleep anymore.

It’s Erica in the end, who locks the door to Derek’s room from the inside so that Stiles can’t run from the conversation they all know needs to be had. It’s not ideal, cornering her when she is that far regressed in her recovery, but the baby will be coming home in less than two weeks. The poor thing doesn’t even have a name yet, at close to five weeks old. They only have one more week to register her. There’s no more time to wait.

Jackson and Lydia are at the hospital with the Sheriff, called in by the neo-specialist in charge of the baby’s care, leaving Derek, Isaac and Boyd spread out across the house and trying valiantly not to listen as Erica crawls into bed beside Stiles and speaks in low tones until she stops trying to get away.

“Stiles. You know we have to talk.” Erica’s voice whispers through the house.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Derek moves through the house silently until he’s sat outside of his own bedroom door. It isn’t long before Isaac migrates to sit beside him, Danny following soon after. It was useless to try and stay away from the conversation in the first place.

“She’s coming home soon. The doctors say two weeks at the most.” There is no reply beyond the sound of Stiles’ heart racing up, the rustle of sheets as someone moves.

“You need to at least name her. Stiles, you have less than a week to register her. She needs a name.”

Still silence. Erica blows out a frustrated breath. It’s been this way since she came home more than two weeks ago.

“She has people who love her. She needs to come home to a family that surround her, and she’ll always have that, but Stiles. She needs a mother, she needs you. And you need her. Don’t deny it, you can’t. I’ve seen the way you hug yourself, and it’s because you _know_ that she should be there in your arms instead.”

Through the door it is so, so faint. A tiny sob that Derek knows instinctively is Stiles, because it sounds oddly similar to the way that the baby girl cries when she’s feeling lonely.

“You loved her the second you laid eyes on her, Stiles. I know you did. All you wanted when you woke up was to see her and make sure she was doing okay. Just tell us what’s going on in your head. We can’t help, if you don’t tell us what’s happening.”

There is almost ten minutes of silence, in which Derek grows twitchy and has to dig his clawed fingers into the floorboards to stop himself from going in there and figuring this out himself. He’s seconds away from standing and doing just that when Stiles breathes out softly. There’s a rustle of sheets which he imagines is Stiles turning to face Erica.

“Hey there.” Erica coo’s, and he can hear the smile in her voice the same way he knows Stiles is trying hard not to cry when she starts to whisper-talk.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice is choked and harsh from misuse.

“No.” Erica replies, strong and certain. “You have absolutely nothing to apologise for. I know that none of us could ever begin to understand what you’ve been through and how you must be feeling. You’re entitled to any and all reactions you have Stiles, but you’re acting like your baby girl doesn’t exist even though we all know it’s killing you. She isn’t the enemy Stiles and you need to decide what you want to do before we bring her home.”

“What do you mean, what do I want to do? She’s coming home, isn’t she?” Derek holds his breath, tries to calm his over-worked heart. That had been a point of contention between the entire pack, as to whether or not Stiles would even want to baby to come home. They could have her adopted, although they’d have to look for a preternatural family, given that the increased healing the baby displayed is a sure sign that she’s inherited her mother’s strong magic.

“If you decide you can’t do this, we can start looking at other options. Like adoption. You have to make your mind up, and soon.”

“No!” Stiles voice is desperate and high. They listen closely as she wriggles her way out of the sheets and then her feet hit the ground hard as she stumbles.

“No! You can’t take her. I’ll be better, I’ll do better. I promise. It’s just- I love her. I do, I promise you I do. My whole body aches for her. It kills me that I wasn’t there for the first real breath she took or the first time she took a bottle. I want to see the face Derek will make when he holds her. I wish- I wish that – I wish that I could look at her and not think about all the bad decisions I made or all the horrible things I did in order to have her here. I wish I could forget that she’s the most amazing thing that happened to me and I only get to have her because I was _raped_.”

A firm fist to the side of his bedroom door and Derek has his arms wrapped around Stiles in seconds as she dissolves into sobs right before them, curling in onto herself as she screams hoarsely into her hands.

“It’s okay.” He soothes, holding her as she shatters in his arms. “It’s okay.”

* * *

Stiles sleeps for fourteen straight ours once she’s cried herself out, curled into Derek’s side for the majority of the time. They swap out for three hours when Jackson comes home from the hospital, but she whimpers in her sleep and Derek is right back in his space. When she wakes up, she smiles at him, just a twitch of her mouth. It’s the most positive emotion he’s seen in her in almost two months.

She climbs out of bed slowly, the way she does almost everything, and he watches the fragile lines of her body as she shakes off her long sleep and pulls herself together for the day. He likes the look on her face as she stands up straight and lets the hunch drop from her shoulders before she heads for his bathroom and into the shower.

He hears her singing under the water from the kitchen as he makes breakfast.

Erica, Boyd, Lydia and Isaac have gone to the hospital this morning, more than usual, but it’s going to be a different day. They’d all felt it, as Stiles cried in his arms last night for hours and hours. As she apologised and screamed and clutched desperately at Derek’s arms even though what she really wanted was that tiny little human, curled up in her crib in a sterilized room two miles away.

Stiles comes down dressed in leggings and one of Derek’s Henley’s, way too big on her and hanging off of one shoulder. He thinks she looks beyond beautiful. Jackson presses a kiss to her head as he passes to grab more coffee, and she crinkles her eyes in a smile as she pours some orange juice.

“You want some breakfast?” Derek calls lightly, buttering toast at the counter across from her. She glances up at him, eyes honey gold and bright in a way they haven’t been since before they even knew about the horrible things that had been happening to her. She’s still contemplating as he drops the plate in the middle of the table beside a bowl of scrambled eggs.

“I probably should.” She replies eventually, voice still dry and scratchy. When she looks up at him again, a slice of toast in one hand and her glass of juice clutched in the other. “ Gotta get my strength up. I’m a mom now, after all.”

Jackson freezes with his cup halfway to his mouth and Derek’s hand clenches too tightly around the piece of toast he had just picked up. She glances between them, face falling quickly.

“What’s wrong, what is it? Do you- Do you not want me to bring her home?” Derek drops his toast quickly, reaching over the table to clutch at her hands and pull her a little closer.

“Of course we do. And of course you’re a mom now. It’s just the first time you’ve accepted it out loud. We were a bit shocked that’s all.” They both glance at Jackson, who has a grin hidden behind his coffee cup. The tension that had been gathering back in her shoulders leaks right back out again and she squeezes Derek’s hands so softly it’s hardly recognisable. He smiles crookedly at her and lets her delicate fingers go.

“Okay.” Stiles breathes out, picking up her slice of toast so carefully. “Okay.”

* * *

The baby is still so tiny. Derek had warned her in the car that she might have recovered a lot, but she hadn’t grown all that much, but she hadn’t understood just how tiny she would still be. Everyone but Derek and herself have cleared the room to wait in the corridor, although her father is at work and not here for this moment, which she regrets.

It takes more energy and determination that she’d ever want to admit to in order to cross the room just stand beside her daughters crib. Her entire body is trembling as she looks down at that tiny, tiny little human that just weeks ago was barely even expected to live through the night. (Stiles has never, ever been more grateful for the magic thrumming through her veins. That she could pass along that one thing to keep this perfect little thing alive long enough for her mother to get herself together.)

Derek’s hand is a steady pressure against her lower back, and it doesn’t feel like weakness when he has to hold her up as her child opens her eyes and gurgles like there is never and will never be anything that could hurt her in this world. Innocent and wide eyed and so, so beautiful.

It’s impossible now to think that any piece of this perfection could be infected by the evil that made her possible in the first place.

“Do you want to hold her?” Derek’s voice is hushed, a warm gust of breath in her ear that makes her shiver. She shakes her head no, biting down on her lower lip as her child waves little hands weakly in the air.

“What if I fuck this up?” Stiles whispers, finally reaching out so carefully so that the little girl can grasp a finger in her tiny hand. The baby’s mouth opens and closes quickly, and Stiles knows that means she is hungry. She knows that, thank goodness, but it’ll have to wait for a moment.

“What if we bring her home, and our lives are a mess. What if we get attacked? What if I don’t get out of bed for week and won’t eat and won’t talk? It’s been five weeks and I haven’t even named her, Derek. What if I can’t do this?” Derek’s arm moves until it’s wrapped around her waist, pulling her in close against the firm side of his body.

“Look at her, Stiles, and tell me you won’t do anything and everything you can to give her a good life.”

“Of course I would.” Stiles objects vehemently. “But-“

“No buts, Stiles. You just have to love her. That’s all. Love her and try your best. You’re going to be amazing.” She nods slowly, curling a single finger around her daughter’s tiny hand as she thinks.

“You’ll help me, right?” Stiles asks softly.

“Of course.” Derek replies immediately. “We all will.” He nods off towards the windows opening out to the corridor, where her pack are pretending they are reading magazines or talking amongst themselves, when even she can tell they’re listening in on her and Derek.

Subtly has never, ever been their forte.

She can’t help but smile at them.

“Well, okay then.” Stiles, so carefully and making sure that Derek’s arm doesn’t stray beyond its point of strength around her waist, she leans over and slides thin hands beneath the tiny child, lifting her slowly until she’s cradled in her arms snugly against her chest. Once she’s settled, she allows Derek to lead her to the chair just off to their right, arms forming an odd barrier as she lowers herself into the seat, still holding this tiny little thing so carefully. Like spun glass.

“I think she’s hungry.” Stiles whispers to Derek, gazing down at her little girl, and only just about hears Derek’s affirmative noise.

“Do you want me to make up a bottle for her?” He inquires softly, and she glances up to him and then back down to where the baby is mouthing at her shirt softly. Slowly, trying not to think too hard about what she’s about to suggest, she shakes her head in a negative.

“I think – could you pass me her blanket. I think I want to try it the natural way.” Stiles glances up at him with her face flaming hot. Having a hungry baby so close to her swollen breasts is too much a temptation, and she knows how much healthier it is for her child. It’s about time she formed a real connection with her, and what better way? If they’re going to have this life, where she is a mother and a care giver first, and everything else second, she should start as she means to go on. Strong, reliable, good.

Derek grins at her, handing over the soft blanket so that she can cover herself up with a blush spreading down her neck. Before she lowers the blanket over herself though, she glances once again between the baby and Derek. Although she knows it isn’t possible, knows there is no way that this tiny little girl could resemble Derek, Stiles can see her in him. A fighter, alive and thriving against all odds. Resilient and beautiful.

“I want to call her Julia.” It tumbles from her mouth before she can really think about the impact it could have, causing Derek to freeze where he is stood. Outside of the room, she can see those with preternatural hearing pause and turn to stare at them through the window.

“I mean, only if you wouldn’t mind. Of course. Never mind, it was a silly thought just ignore-“

Derek’s arm coming up around them, his soft mouth pressing soft kisses against her temple and along her cheek regardless of the tears she can feel clinging to his eyelashes.

“I love it. I’d be honoured. Thank you. Stiles, thank you so much.” Tears lining her own eyes, she nods, turns to be face to face with him, pressing her own soft kiss to his mouth for the first time.

“Thank you.” She whispers back, keeping Derek close as she arranges the blanket over herself and Julia so that she can make her first attempt at feeding her daughter.

It’s not easy, but nothing up to this point has been, and much of their future won’t be either. But soon, she’d be taking her daughter home. To live with their pack, and rebuild her life, and she might not know much about motherhood or how to raise a child, but if Stiles has ever been anything; it’s a quick study.


End file.
